


The Beast and the Harlot

by A_Il, jeza_red



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: A LOT OF WAFFLING, Age Difference, Beast Hunter, Borderline Bestiality, Broken limbs and lot of blood heh, Dubious Consent, M/M, NSFW, SO MUCH WAFFLING, Size Difference, mention of characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 11:19:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 36,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6468157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Il/pseuds/A_Il, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeza_red/pseuds/jeza_red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gilbert is dying in his little room. He knew it would happen. He always knew it.<br/>And there is this Kind Hunter who comes to see him from time to time. Until it becomes a common habit.</p><p>This kind-hearted, young Hunter... and the raging Beast in his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of easy background for an easier reading:  
> In this verse, one Paleblood Hunter already finished the game and ascended - he’s the protagonist’s older brother. Now, from the height of the Hunter’s Dream he tries to protect his little bro from the madness of Yharnam and make his journey easier. Sometimes it works, sometimes it backfires. 
> 
> The current Hunter - Nahliel "Nal" Řezník- is a young man with a tragic past. Rejected by his village due to albinism and sold to a coal mine as a child, at the age of 19 he fled slavery and stumbled upon Yharnam on the Night of the Hunt. Unknowingly protected by an invisible hand of his older brother, he tries to find the way out of the city and its various traps. On the way he meets monsters, befriends a psychotic Church Executioner, a kindhearted whore, and kinda maybe probably falls in love with an older man suffering from a deathly disease… Oh yeah, and there’s also a Beast raging in his mind, pushing him towards violence and dreadful indecency. 
> 
> The Hunter operates under the Beast Embrace rune, which causes his body to transform and his mind to split into two - his human psyche and the Beastly element wage a war for control most of the time. The rune application follows a headcanon where the sign is burned into the hunter’s flesh to work - his is placed under the right collarbone. The more control the Beast manages to wrestle from Nal, the further it can push the transformation, until their body changes completely and reaches roughly the size of Paarl.  
> Due to Nal's odd pale colouring - his beast form is ashen/white and one of his eyes is colourless. The partial transformation changes him from a small underfed waif into a looming beast with an inhuman strength and it fits him just fine.
> 
>  
> 
> Gilbert, for his part, is a frail, repressed, former scholar who falls in love with the kind Hunter who visits his window all the time, but with the death swiftly approaching, he dares not reveal his feelings.

 

 

 

The Hunter was on the other side of the window for a while now. Apart from the curt welcome he hasn’t said a word so far, just walked in a circle and sighed once every few minutes.

Gilbert felt strangely awkward. He grew used to the conversations with the man and tried to take part in them for as long as he could, despite his bad cough. When his throat or lungs finally gave out, he was content to just listen and let the Hunter unburden his spirit. But this time, the atmosphere seemed somewhat strained.

Why? Did something happen to the young man? Was he injured or - angry?

Worry gnawed at Gilbert’s heart, even as he tried to push it away. The Hunter was his own person, he should be allowed to have his quiet time, he wasn’t obliged to speak with anyone, no matter how much Gilbert…

"I am not going back to Charnel Lane," the Hunter finally said, or more like growled out.

Gilbert startled at the tone and the words alike. Charnel Lane ? That was... He certainly wasn’t talking about the graveyard? "But... Why?” He gasped. “Why would you go there in the first place?"

"Because of her.” The Hunter stopped his pacing and stood in front of the window now. Close, but still out of sight. “Eh, that old Crow! She told me I could find a tool for the Hunter's Workshop in there.” He sounded angry and exhausted.  

"And... did you ?" Gilbert prompted gently - and then had to stifle a cough. He could feel another fit coming.

The Hunter laughed shortly. "Oh, yeah, I’ve found it, alright!” His voice turned bitter. “ And with it a village full of mad women, giants wielding axes and creepy ghost-puppets.”

"And what about...the legend I've heard about? Was there really one?"

"A witch? Yes. Two, actually. They’ve tried to gouge my eyes out."

( ** _"These two bitches!"_** _The Beast growled in the back of the Hunter’s mind, but he managed to shush it._ )

"But they are no more, now, " he assured nonchalantly.

So it was true. The old legend of Hemwick’s Charnel Lane.

Gilbert shivered. There were beasts in Yharnam, he knew that, but how many monstrosities have bleed into the outside world ?

And like it was not enough, his diaphragm pushed at the lungs, calling for another fit of coughs. Gilbert tried to stop it, to keep the Hunter from worrying as he usually tended to do. Even when the blood came up to his throat and his ribs tightened painfully, he still tried to stifle the sounds behind his hands.  

He managed to ask. "Are you...unharmed?"

"I am," the Hunter replied. He sounded calmer now, less tense. "The blood vials are helpful, even if I can add some new scars to my little collection."

( ** _" At least you may start to look like a man now, brat,_** ** _"_**   his Beast added.)

Gilbert bit his lips. Scars? Oh well, of course, the young man was a Hunter, so it was perfectly normal for him to have some. He tried to imagine his friend many times now, but each time his imagination ran short of the mark. He was probably tall, as all the Hunters tended to be; tough, of course, with a tanned skin marked by the said scars… Maybe, everything was possible.  

The Hunter was a complete opposite of him, that’s for sure.

While his good Hunter was out slaughtering beasts, Gilbert was stuck in his little room, suffering alone. He envied the man his freedom, even if it had to be paid off with blood and pain. If he was given a choice...

Wait, “his”? Gilbert scolded himself. He dared to call the Hunter his? That was quite intolerable, indeed! That path was closed to him - that path led to even more pain. He should keep tighter reins on his abnormal affections, least he loses that budding friendship and the respect of the man along with it.

"I wish it could be the same for you, dear," the Hunter muttered suddenly, as if aware of Gilbert’s shameful thoughts. His voice was gentle and close to the window. "Your cough is even worse than before... and you're bleeding, aren’t you?"

...He noticed? How? The curtains were closed and Gilbert was sitting to the side of the window… then how…?

“Do you need blood? I have a few spare vials, so maybe this time...?”

Gilbert backtracked. "Please, do not worry... I'm fine..." But his lungs decided that no, this was enough speaking for now and closed the flow of oxygen to punish him for straining them so carelessly.

He still tried to push through the blockade, to at least send the man on his way, to get him away from the window. But the moment he opened his mouth, blood started to leak down his chin and he panicked.

No... Why was this happening now?  

"Good Hunter... please… go..."

The pain was becoming stronger with each second. Gilbert fell against the backrest of the chair, dizzy from the lack of air, gasping for every breath like it was to be his last. But no, it couldn’t be. He was just… it was just like it usually went - he would cough, fall unconscious and wake up feeling even worse, but alive.

It was just that the blood didn't stop flowing and the coughs didn’t end.

“Please, go… I’m fine…” he tried to convince the Hunter to leave. It was better this way, for the man to not be present when he… when he.. “Leave… now… please.”

"Gilbert!?” He could hear panic in the Hunter’s voice, his steps on the stone and the sound of a fist slamming into the metal bars protecting the window. “Breathe slowly and stop trying to speak!”

“...go…”

“I will not go, you… you just breathe, please!”

He reached up to the window, maybe if he showed that he’s alright, the Hunter will…

   
  
***

  
No... no no no this can't be happening, the Hunter thought in panic as the scent of blood wafted from behind the window, thick and cloying. More and more of it he could smell. More than it was healthy for a man already weakened by the illness to lose!

“Gilbert!”

A soft tap against the window and he could see a pale shape of a hand splayed against the glass, pushing at the heavy wing, slowly closing the gap that allowed them to speak in the first place.

“What?” He stood still, dumbfounded. The man tried to make him leave - to cut him off. “Gilbert, no!”

And what could the Hunter do other than to let him? He was so very ill, in so much pain for so long now…

 ** _" Well boy?! You're going to stand here and cry as he chokes on his own blood?"_** The Beast growled. It sounded vaguely amused by his pain - as always.

 _" What do you suggest I do, you idiot Beast!?"_ The Hunter snapped back into their shared mindspace, anger minutely replacing fear.

**_ "You really are a clueless child! You have the whore’s blood! You have one vial of it, pry the fucking door open and give it to him before it's too late!" _ **

Gods, how he hated when the blasted thing was right! Arianna’s blood, for reasons he didn't want to get into now or ever, carried a special trait. It’s healing power lasted far longer than any of the normal vials he’d encountered so far. Lady doctor’s blood was stronger, true, and healed wounds faster; it might have been better for this occasion… but the last vial she gave him was lying empty somewhere on the Grand Cathedral’s floor and there was no time to get a new one!  

Arianna’s blood it was, then!

  "...right."

Urged on by his Beast, the Hunter turned the corner and ran into a pair of heavyset doors. He did not question himself on how to open the right one, there was hardly any time for that - he just grasped the doorknob and twisted, pushing his shoulder against the wooden barrier until it gave.

It gave easier than he suspected, actually, meaning that the Hunter and the door swung inwards and both smashed into the wall. The Hunter only had a moment to see the pale man sitting in a chair by the window in the narrow hall - the widening of his eyes at the sight of an intruder, the terror slowly spreading across his face… And then the candleholder fitted to the wall he just hit into fell on the floor and the hall was shrouded in darkness.

 

***

 

“Please…someone please, help me… ”  
  
Gilbert could not call the Hunter for help, his throat was raw and the fear choked him even more than the sickness did. There was a monster in the room with him, he could hear it breathing and could not find the voice to call for help. Life was such an awful mistress to his poor existence… He wasn’t going to die from his sickness, as he always thought. It was going to be a beast after all.  
  
“Shh, it’s me, it’s just... ”  The Hunter’s voice was a blessing, but along with it the sound of footsteps echoed against the walls. The beast was coming closer! He desperately wanted to scream that he was here, so the Hunter could come and protect him, but...  
  
Gilbert found himself shaking like he never did before, terror turning his limbs into jelly. And his lungs’ state was not helping, as he had to retain another series of coughs least he alarms the beast to his presence. That it hasn’t tore his throat out yet was a miracle.  
  
The door… The door was supposed to prevent this from happening! And now he was cornered here, at the mercy of a bloodthirsty beast - and why the Hunter was so long in coming?

“Gilbert...please, everything is okay, I have a vial, I can heal you...please, don’t…”

Ah, but did it really a matter now, Gilbert thought as tears of guilt dripped from his eyes, making his need for air even more painful. He would die anyways from his illness, if the beast was slow in coming. And the Hunter would see him. He nipped his lips in anger. Angry? Oh yes he was, to think that he would survive, that he called the Hunter out of despair, so he would just see him die. And yet he could not stop the pathetic whimpers that escaped him, because he was so afraid...  
  
“...there’s a beast… in here… please, help me…”

But the only answer he got was a monstrous growl and then pain.

 

  
***

 

The hall was tiny and swathed in darkness  only somewhat broken by the miniscule amount of reddish glow from the incense burner on the outside wall. Diluted additionally by the drawn curtains, it did very little.

For the Hunter, luckily, darkness was not a problem - he was a half-beast and, truth to be told, the lack of light felt rather pleasant. It reminded him vaguely of the coal mines, but the Beast supplied the images of moonlit grooves and dark, cool corners that offset these traumatic memories. They could see in the dark very well.

And they saw that Gilbert was in a bad shape. A very bad shape.

The Hunter stilled after crashing into the house, half frightened by the noise he’s caused, half shocked by the expression of wide-eyed fear on his friend’s face and the sheer amount of blood that covered his mouth and throat. He could see it even through the hands that the man was pressing to his face, desperately trying to stifle any sounds that came out of him.

Oh God, the Hunter realised, Gilbert has seen him! In that one moment before the candle went out he has seen a beast crashing into his house!

And now he was sitting ramrod-straight in the old armchair, terrified for his life.

And he was so thin. So pale. There was so much blood…

 ** _“Move it, brat!”_**  The Beast snarled, incensed by the cloying smell filling the air.

The Hunter squeezed the precious vial in his hand and made a careful step.  

Gilbert heard him, somehow, and flinched. And then whimpered.

“Shh,” the Hunter whispered, desperate to calm his friend. “It’s me, it’s just...”

“Hunter…” Gilbert looked dazed, barely lucid, but the fear in his voice was real when he turned his face towards the window and spoke in the tiniest of tones. “Help me…”

Oh, gods.

“Gilbert...please,” another careful step, “everything is okay, I have a vial, I can heal you...please, don’t…”

“...there’s a beast… in here… please, help me…”

 ** _“He’s delirious!” _**  The Beast growled, more and more agitated by the presence of something that in its eyes was no more than a prey. **_“Blood now, you can be maudlin and pathetic later!”_**

As if that wasn’t enough, it took advantage of the Hunter’s momentary distraction and pushed his body for him. It crossed the rest of the way in two long strides, grabbed the man by the wrist and stabbed the vial into the crook of his elbow.

Gilbert jumped at the sound then at the touch, by the time the pain hit he was flailing and trying to get away from them by any means possible. Sadly - or thankfully, - he was too weak to do much, but struggle briefly as the Hunter attempted to hold him down until the Ministration took hold.

“Shh, calm down, please,” he kept whispering to the whimpering man. “It’s me, you know me… I won't hurt you, I promise, shh…” His throat wanted to close, from the pain of seeing his friend in such state - of being the cause of it.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long before the vial was empty and Arianna's blood set out to heal the damage. In fact, it was so sudden that Gilbert stopped fighting him mid-hit and slumped back with a small sound of amazement.

The Hunter leaned back on his feet, sighing with relief that it’s finally over - and mad at himself for not thinking ahead! Of course Gilbert would be scared of him in this form! He’s never told the man that he was…

_** “Stop acting like a pathetic brat!”  ** _

_ “Shut up, you monster!” _

He closed the door - or attempted to, at least, because the lock was as well as useless. He felt bad about it, but there was nothing to be done now. After a moment of consideration, the Hunter used the only other piece of furniture present - the heavy ornamental coat stand - to keep the door closed.

Gilbert, meanwhile, released a dazed giggle. Blood stopped dripping from his mouth and he could breathe now, but he was a mess.

 ** _“He’s alive,”_**  the Beast growled. **_“Let’s go!”_**

 _“You’re kidding!”_  The Hunter growled back.    _“I won't leave him like that!”_

Cold and alone, and scared in the darkness. He wanted to be better than that! After causing him so much distress...

 _ **“We are what we are,”**_  the Beast cut into his deprecating thought. _**“He either accepts that or we eat him!”**_

_“No!”  _

The sounds the Beast was making were angry and hungry, there was too much blood present, they had to get rid of it before something bad happens. The best would be to take Gilbert to bed so he could rest while the Ministration did its work.  That would also put one more pair of doors between him and any danger prowling the night.

With a sigh the Hunter unbuckled the cleaver  from his back and rested it on the wall next to the window,  so it doesn't hinder his moves; then he decided to leave the rest of his stash, too - it was as safe of a place as he could get outside of the Dream.

Only then he leaned over his friend, put his arms around his back and under his knees, and heaved him up with little difficulty. Oh gods, he was so light and thin, he barely weighed more than a wet tablecloth!

“Oh… wha…?” Gilbert muttered, slowly becoming aware that he’s being carried. “What...?”

“It’s me,” The Hunter repeated once again. “I will take care of you now, is that alright?”

“Hmm….”

The next room was a sort of a kitchen, full of dust and cobwebs, with a low cot next to the stove that was now cold. Figures, that a Yharnamite wouldn’t put a tenant in an actual bedroom. It made the hair on the back of the Hunter’s neck stand up in anger that for once his beast reflected. Such disgraceful accommodation!

“Ah, there was… a beast…” Gilbert muttered as he was sat on the cot. He tried to grasp at the Hunter’s sleeve, but his hand missed the mark. “Inside… it was… the door… it…”

“I killed it,” the Hunter assured with a breaking heart. “It won't hurt you. Ever.”

 ** _“Not really,”_** the Beast chuckled. **_“I’m still here!”_**

The Beast was prowling their shared mindspace, though, pressing at him to move, to act in some way… strange energy filled him and he did his best to fight it off as he cast his sight around the dank room in search of water. Thankfully, he spotted a pitcher on the stove, still half-full, and a passably clean towel next to it.

_ “He is so sick and they let him stay in such conditions!”  _

**_ “Humans are trash worth only to be devoured!” _ **

_ “Not all humans!” _

_** “...” ** _

The lack of an answer would be distressing if the Hunter had time to ponder it. But he was busy with getting the cloth adequately wet and making sure that his friend won't fall from the cot in his barely-lucid state.

_** “Undress him.” ** _

_ “What?! What are you even…” _

**_“He reeks of blood! Either you get rid of the clothes or I will!”_** The Beast threatened. **_“I am not willing to torture myself with this smell!”_**

The Beast had a point: the whole front of Gilbert’s nightshirt was splashed with blood and the sleeves of his robe were drenched. What sense would it make if he was to clean the skin, but leave the rest filthy?

Red in the face and feeling like he’s doing something forbidden, the Hunter gently sat his friend up against the wall and tugged the patchy robe off. The shirt underneath was fairly thin and with the cold air in the room it took just a moment for Gilbert to start shivering.

**_ “What are you doing?!” _ **

The Hunter didn't answer. In sullen silence he stocked up the stove and set the kindling on fire.  

 ** _“...you’re stalling,” _**  the Beast sounded amused and pitying. **_“Hah! What a brave Hunter you are! A child, nothing more!”_**

 _“He’s a man!”_  The Hunter snapped.    _“I have never…”_

 ** _“Then let me! I can deal with some skin alright!”_**  Sharp teeth gleamed in the darkness and the Hunter recoiled from the wave of heat that rushed down his spine.

_ “Over my dead body!” _

Fire spread over the bigger pieces of wood fast enough and soon the Hunter could not pretend that he’s not trying to stall. And Gibert was slipping off the cot again, muttering softly to himself, like a sleepy child.

Gods, this man was almost twice his age, how could he look so… endearing?

 ** _“He’s plain like a plain thing!”  _**The Beast laughed.

Maybe, but it didn’t mean that he was unattractive. Not at all. A tangle of brown hair, a pair of wide, light grey eyes, straight nose and a soft mouth… And all the blood.

“Here, I will just… let me get this off a bit.”

The buttons of the nightshift seemed tiny in his clawed hands, his nails kept slipping over them, and the scent of blood mixed in with the scent of the man himself did strange things to the Hunter. The Beast was one thing, enticed by the carnage, trying to push its way to the forefront of his mind and take over their body. He was used to that, but not… in this context. Not when his hands were touching someone he cared about and wished to help.

“...Hunter?” He heard a near-silent mumble as he bared the man’s throat and a part of his chest; Gilbert shivered even though the room was turning warmer. At least the Hunter thought it’s warmer now. “What… are you...?”

“I’m just…” Damn it, he could not find his tongue! He was hopeless! “I’ll clean you up a bit, stay calm.” He didn’t know how far his friend was removed from reality now, Arianna's blood was a potent thing, and for someone unused to the Ministrations of a higher quality it had to hit hard.

**_ “He smells nice.”  _ **

_ “Yes, he… What!” _

The Beast chuckled at his hopeless blush and stretched while the Hunter reared back, realizing that somehow his face was too close to the blood-covered neck. The damn animal kept pushing!  

_ “Stop this! He’s not aware!” _

_** “Oh, I don’t know about that!”  ** _

The Hunter didn’t dare to look up, into Gilbert’s face, not wanting to either confirm or disprove the Beast’s insinuation. He focused instead on the wet cloth and attempted to rub the worst of the blood away. Unfortunately, when he touched it to Gilbert’s skin the man flinched and made some kind of a throaty noise that tightened every muscle in the Hunter’s body.

“Ahhh… that feels… nice.”

These thin hands fumbled for a moment before they landed on his shoulders and the Hunter swallowed compulsively when fingers dug into his mane. “Oh, you… need a haircut…” Gilbert chuckled breathlessly, swaying from side to side. His eyes were glassy and barely open, and the Hunter was grateful, because his blush would probably illuminate the room. “This… it’s a bit… it’s a lot of hair, though…”

“It’s a dream,” he swallowed the raising hysteria and grasped both fragile wrists to lower his friend’s hands down on the bed. “It’s… not real.”

“Oh…” Gilbert could not see in the darkness, it was obvious, but he still looked down towards their joined hands; he just seemed to realise that his shirt is quite indecently open, because his eyes widened a bit. “Oh... that’s a shame…”

The Beast reared and slammed into the bars separating it from the real world, and the Hunter almost ran out of the room. Was Gilbert…? Was he saying what they thought he’s saying?

 _“He’s delirious!”_  The Hunter snapped. _“He doesn't know what he’s saying!”_

Thus reassured, he picked up the cloth again and went back to his previous task. But the blood was starting to dry on the warm skin and the smell in the air thickened. Skin and cotton, and the warmth… It was calming, in a way. The way Gilbert kept taking these deeper breaths every time he was touched was somewhat charming, too. He looked so innocent like that, even if his kneeling position and the shirt riding up over his knees were nothing of the sort. The knees themselves were thin, bony and pale, pretty much like the rest of the body. Just like the collarbones that stood out almost like two thin twigs for the small birds to perch on, the shallow dip in between them enticing the Hunter to lean in closer to see the single drop of blood that stubbornly refused to be removed with a cloth…

The skin there tasted like salt, the Hunter mused. Like salt and iron, and milk. It was so warm…

Thin fingers rested on his shoulders again and Gilbert released a breathy gasp, and just then the Hunter realised what he’s been doing.

_ Oh, gods no! Not… _

But when he tried to move away, to remove his face from the vicinity of the neck he’s been _licking_ , the hands holding on to him tightened and Gilbert went with him. Panicked, the Hunter grabbed the man’s hips to keep him from toppling over the edge of the cot and they froze like that, face to face, on the verge of something that had the Hunter’s insides tied into knots.

“Gilbert…” He swallowed with difficulty. He felt strangely light headed. “I’m sorry, I don't know what came over…!”

The rest of the words was smothered by a pair of very insistent lips that descended on him with no warning at all.

 _ **“Oh?”**_ The Beast growled. **_“That’s a curious development.”_**

The kiss was rushed and sloppy, and the Hunter sat frozen throughout most of it, eyes wide, staring into the darkness in mute stupor. His hands clenched compulsively on his friend’s slim hips as said friend nipped at the corner of his mouth.

Oh god, what was this? Why was this happening? What was he supposed to do?!

God, but Gilbert smelled so nice, his tangled fringe brushed over the Hunter’s brow;  thin fingers once more tangled in the matted hair on the back of his neck making it stand up and sending pleasant shivers down until they landed in his stomach like a flock of butterflies.

“Come on…” the man breathed against his lips, glossy eyes trying to see his in the darkness. “If this is… a dream… come...” He moved his mouth across the Hunter’s, slow and sweet, trying to entice him into returning the favour.

The Hunter held up bravely throughout most of the assault, all the way until felt a wet slide of a tongue at the seam of his lips and it was as if a molotov exploded inside of him - like someone suddenly rubbed a handful of fire paper along his spine. The heat rushed through his veins and scalded him from the inside and the beast roared in triumph.

A second later he was on all fours above the gasping man sprawled underneath him like some sort of an offering. And he fully intended to partake.

“Ah… good Hunter?”

His lips descended on the blood splattered neck once more, rough tongue swiping over the skin in an attempt to chase after the sweet taste and even sweeter scent. Thin fingers pulled at his mane as Gilbert giggled under him, shifting as much as he could in the stalled attempts to escape the tickling sensation. But he wasn’t trying very hard. Thankfully. The Hunter, half out of his mind with need, wasn’t sure that he’d let his friend escape and didn't want to test himself.

He followed the trail of blood down, across the thin collarbones, nipping at the protruding ends because they tempted him so. His nose fit into that little dip and he breathed in the intoxicating scent for a long moment, trying to gather his wits, but the Beast wasn’t willing to let him. And Gilbert was not giggling anymore, his grip on the ashen hair tightened fractionally with every lick, his breathing changed, as if the understanding that it’s not a play anymore was slowly descending on him.  

The shirt was a hindrance, though, one that the Beast did a quick work of, even though the Hunter insisted that they don't destroy the garment… Little white buttons disappeared into the tangled sheets after one short pull bared their owner’s chest down to his navel.

**_ “Thin prey, not much meat on him.” _ **

Indeed, Gilbert was thin, ribs protruding enough to count them - which the Hunter did, he marked each with his lips and tongue, tasting the soft shadows between each one. He followed the raised path of the sternum down to the soft flat stomach and another spot of shadow.

 

***

 

Gilbert gasped when the Beast tongued his navel, his back arched slightly and he could swear that even the Hunter can hear his heart trashing inside his ribcage. Probably the landlady upstairs could hear it.

The sensations that the man was forcing on him were strange and overwhelming, but so far they were pleasant… Only in his dreams has he experienced anything like it… Well, this was a dream too, but this one seemed to work without his input. He didn't want the dream Hunter to stop, even if his sense of decency almost died when his shirt was opened - he shivered from the cold, but soon enough a warm tongue chased the chill away and replaced it with the opposite.

He felt dazed and lightheaded, like after a Ministration, but… this one was longer, like someone stretched the moment into eternity leaving him helpless and sensitive to the smallest touch.

The touch was insistent and slightly rough, the Hunter still held his hip with one hand and Gilbert was a bit grateful for being anchored in some way otherwise he’d surely slide from the cot, his bones felt only half-solid. But the position they were in - him sprawled across the bed, with the Hunter kneeling on the floor between his knees - was indecent enough to make him flush with mortification. The floor was cold underneath his bare feet, but every time he tried to pull them up the bulk of the Hunter between his legs made it impossible - made him aware that he’s… he’s… oh god.

Then the tongue dipped into his bellybutton and hot lips closed around it, pulling on the thin skin, causing something akin to an electric current to go through Gilbert’s nerves - from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, not missing the place in between where the pleasure started to heat his flesh.

“Wait…!” He gasped, pulling at the hair between his fingers, trying to bring the man back up, to stop… “Wait… not… not there, wait!”

He might as well be pulling at the floor to meet the ceiling, the Hunter was undeterred. Rough hands closed around Gilbert’s wrists and pulled them away with ridiculous ease, and then held whem down against the bedding, stalling his attempts at escaping the situation.

“Wait..!” The grip was gentle enough not to bruise him, but unrelenting and the more Gilbert struggled with it, the harder it became. “Please…”

The Hunter was a young man, he could not be that strong! Or that… _shameless_. It only made it more obvious that this was a dream, then.

This was wrong, oh god, so shameful. He was full of these unnatural urges since forever, but they were always under his control, he could keep them away with the force of will and the fear of what would happen if he allowed himself… or anyone… ever. This was too far, too much, he could not cross that line even in his own imagination!

But this dream seemed intent on changing that and Gilbert was struck with sudden fear of the unknown and the shame of his body’s eager reactions to it.

“Good Hunter…!” He gasped when the body half-covering his shifted. An elbow pushed at one of his thighs, opening his legs wider which in turn caused the hem of the night shirt to ride up almost to his hips. In a stroke of terror-tainted foreknowledge Gilbert understood what will happen now. “Good Hunter… don’t!”        

But it was for naught, with his hands trapped as they were he was unable to stop it and could only arch off the bed, mewling helplessly when the hot, rough tongue licked a line of fire along his throbbing flesh. The muscles in his legs seized and his knees almost came together over the Hunter’s head, trapping him securely in between, as if Gilbert was some harlot! His brain disconnected from the rest of the body and all the words he wanted to speak, all the ways in which he could redirect this dream where lost on him. He could only moan wantonly as his flesh was engulfed in heat time after time, as blood flowed down, hardening it in the most horrifying way.

He wanted it to stop, he needed it to stop, and at the same time he wished it would never…

“Good Hunter…” he seemed capable of only repeating these two words in the more and more choked up tone. He could not get enough air into his lungs and for once it wasn’t because of the illness. “Good Hunter…!”

Oh God, please, don’t let it end like that… he would never live with the shame. The Hunter was his friend, the only friend he was left with in this cursed town, a kind soul that treated him with utmost respect… how could he turn around and defile this friendship with these sick fantasies? This was disgraceful! He was disgraceful! He was… He was going to…

“Good Hunter, please…” he whimpered, feeling the heat building up in his veins. “Please… stop…” For your sake more than mine. So I can live with myself one day more. “Please…”

 

***

 

This tiniest whispered plea penetrated through the layers of animalistic desire into the mind hidden underneath and did what all other protests couldn’t do.

_ “Stop this, now!”  _

The Hunter wrestled the control over his body from the Beast even as it raged and clawed at him to keep going, to break the whimpering man apart, to get him on his knees and fuck him senseless… until they’re sated on sex and blood.

_ “No! Not him! Not ever!”  _

He pulled back and it felt like he’s trying to split his own body in two, but he’s managed to do it. The Hunter gasped for air, but it all smelled of blood and skin, it was all he could taste on his tongue and he cursed their sharpened senses. Gilbert shivered on the bed in front of him, debauched and half-naked; his chest was covered in dark marks where the Beast’s rough tongue pressed too hard and his skin was shiny with sweat.

He was gloriously, painfully hard and the Hunter closed his eyes in shame. He just didn't know who - what - he was more ashamed for.

The beast roared with cruel laughter.  _ **“Child! And you’re going to leave it like that, are ya? Wet and whimpering like a bitch in heat!”**_

_ “Stop it!” _

_ “ **May I remind you of your own state? It seems that your virgin sensibilities are trying to deny the truth!** ” _

Indeed, they did. He tried not to pay attention to his own body, to the sudden tightness of his trousers. This was… _“This is you,” _  he insisted. _“This is all you!”_

 ** _“Oh, is it now?”_**  The Beast chuckled darkly. **_“Let’s be it, brat, let’s be it. It’s me and I need to relieve myself, so you can step back into the cage and allow me to take care of this problem for us!”_**

Ah, he walked straight into this one. And while he was arguing with the monster under his skin, Gilbert was trying to free himself from his grip. Ashamed even more, the Hunter released his friend’s wrists and moved back, allowing him the shred of dignity when the man closed his legs and curled up on the bed, shakily trying to  pull his ruined shirt around himself.  

What was he thinking?! How could he let it get this far? He needed to… he needed to get away, to leave. To let Gilbert compose himself and, if the gods are kind, fall asleep and forget this whole mess happened in the first place. He should…

**_ “Leave him like that? When any passing beast can smell him through that broken door? Brave decision.” _ **

_“Well, what do you want me to do?!”_  He snarled at the Beast. Gods, his hands were shaking. He needed a quick gulp of a sedative. _“What do you propose?!”_

 ** _“ Fuck him,”_  **the Beast growled, unimpressed with his flight of temper. **_“Mark him for all of them to know! Make them fear!”_**

 _“...you’re joking.”   _He walked into this one too, the idiot that he was.

**_ “Or go and hide again and let me do it.” _ **

He would not! There had to be a different solution! He could…

 _“I will stand guard, then,”_  he decided. _“Until he wakes. Then I will explain everything and…”_  beg forgiveness _“take him to the Chapel, he will be safe there.”_

He will leave, yes, this was the best option, he should leave and - he should leave.

He could not move.

Blood was still thumping in his veins, his senses were still set on the human in front of them and he could not force his body to move away.

 _“What… what are you doing?”_  He turned to the Beast, panicked.

The Beast sounded all too amused. _**“What am I doing?”**_

_ “Don’t play games with me! What are you doing to… me?”  _

**_ “Why, can’t you get over your own instincts? Amuse me and fight some more, until your will fizzles out and I can take over and scratch the itch in peace.”  _ **

_ “No… You won’t..” _

**_ “Won’t I? And you will stop me how?”  _ **

This was a nightmare. His own body deciding to fight against him was the worst possible thing, and the Beast being so calm and matter of fact about it just drove the point home. It would not be so calm if it wasn’t sure of its victory!    
  
He had to fight the Beast, no matter what! He could not let it do Gods-know-what to the man, and break his already frail mind and body.  
  
**_“So?” _**  The Beast sneered. **_“Either you fuck him or I, but decide quick, I need satisfaction!_** ”  
  
_ “For once in our shared life, can’t you just leave me? You’re making things worse!”_  
  
_**“You’re just a child! A clueless and weak child! You’d be long dead if I weren’t here to watch over your sorry ass. So give me more consideration will ya?”**_

Fear sank into his guts, and the ache in his trousers wasn't helping. The Beast was somewhat right, he could not leave Gilbert here and allow any creature to come and....  
  
**_“A beast you know, or a beast you don’t.”_**  
  
_“Shut it!”_ Gods, even the mere fact of breathing became painful _“I…I will repair the door and watch over until Gilbert is awake.  Then we’ll leave.”_  
  
_**“And you plan to stay awake all night long?  Ah! You really are funny, kid. Go on, go on! And we’ll see what happens if you do so.”**_  
  
Oh he wanted to punch the damn animal so it would shut its cursed mouth. He had to go, for Gilbert’s sake - and his own, there was no time for arguing with the Beast. Yes. Stick to the plan, that was all he had to do. Leave.

With a deep breath the Hunter used the bedframe to pull himself up to his knees and heaved his body up. His legs were shaking and the pressure in his groin nearly sent him back down, but he persisted. With another breath he’s managed to steady his knees and turn around.

“...wait…”

A trembling hand closed around his wrist. He froze, tethered in place by five thin fingers and the tiniest of shivering whispers. “Please… don’t go…”

The Beast opened its maw to speak, but the Hunter shut it down with the sheer strength of will. Gilbert was still curled up, with his back to the room, but his grip was tight.

What was the Hunter to do?

He sat down on the edge of the cot, because his legs could not support him anymore. “Alright, I’ll stay…”

Gods weren’t on his side, he thought as he started to strip his gear. He methodically unbuckled his braces and took off his coat - if he was to stay in there for a while, he may as well do it in some resemblance of comfort. Boots went next and it did feel nice to finally wiggle his toes - the claws were an issue. But the more he removed, the more he became aware of the coldness in the room. Fortunately, his Beast side granted him thick, white fur, and the echoes burning inside him heated him up sufficiently, but the air was chilly enough that he could feel it through the vest and the shirt underneath. A closer inspection revealed that the fire in the stove was low and weakly, woefully insufficient to warm up even the small room. The chimney had to be blocked.

Another wave of anger at the heartless homeowner only added to the already volatile mix brewing under his skin. Anger and worry, guilt and desperate need to fix this mess and - eh, the other thing, the one he didn’t wish to consider. It was improper. Unnatural.

 _ **“He kissed you first,”**_  the Beast hissed.  

 _“He thinks we’re not real,”_  the Hunter mourned.

“....good Hunter?” A tiny, scared whisper pulled him out of the argument.”I don’t... feel too well...“

“What’s wrong?” The Hunter kneeled on the end of the bed and leaned in closer to hear the man properly, even though he tried not to breathe too deeply, least the scent of blood muddles his senses again. “What is it?”

Even though he knew what the issue was - strong blood did that on the first try. He still remembered his first swing of Iosefka’s blood; he acted drunk for at least an hour and felt like his skin was crawling with worms. It was at the same time fulfilling and disturbing - and, sadly, there was nothing that could be done about it, but wait it out.

“Do you want some water?” He asked the man. “When was the last time you’ve eaten?”

“Good Hunter…”

He leaned in closer. “Gilbert?”

“...cold…”

Well, of course he was, his night shirt was made of thin linen and the blanket on the bed was downright threadbare. Seeing his friend in such miserable state awoke some new instinct inside of the Hunter, one that demanded he fixes it, that he fixes it all.

With a curse of his lips, the Hunter relented. The Beast laughed as he carefully swung his legs on the narrow bed and got as close to the shivering man as he dared. Hopefully, his body heat will be enough and his decency will prevail. He pulled the blanket over them both to trap the warmth in one place and hoped for the time to speed up. Maybe, if he fell asleep and pulled the Beast with him…

And he would probably manage to do it if Gilbert wasn’t attempting to crawl inside of his chest.

 

***

 

The Hunter got into the bed with him and Gilbert’s heart almost exploded. It was like the dream wanted to torture him with all the possibilities forbidden in the waking world. He still felt woozy, his brain seemed to lay in a bed of water and every move he could force his body into was slow and fumbling. Like he was drunk.

Not to mention the… oh goodness, he could scarcely think about his state. He was still hard, no matter how many times he’s told himself that it was wrong and useless. He almost managed to get a hold on his breathing, but when the Hunter pulled the blanket over them the warmth and the initiate smell of the man’s body renewed the tension in his spine.

But he was warm, finally. His housing offered very little in terms of comfort, the last few weeks Gilbert has spent in cold and misery, the only saving grace was that his landlady still had enough decency left to bring him meals and do his laundry, but he was slowly running out of her good will. He was expected to die soon, he knew, and yet still...

Still the Hunter treated him like a human being, like a friend, and even in his dreams he attempted to make his last hours comfortable. Oh, how he adored that man! And how painful it was that he’d never be able to tell him about it. Nothing was left to him, but his dreams.

“Shh,” a voice whispered over his head when his body shuddered in despair. “Are you still cold?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling miserable. “I’m so…”

“There, there, don’t speak, rest. Let me.”

The body behind him shifted closer and it was like a living stove was pressed to his back. Goodness gracious but the Hunter was big! With the tips of his toes Gilbert could not reach his feet and the nose that ruffled his hair with deep steady exhalations was over the top of his head! The Hunter told him that he was young - was he a Yharnamite, after all?  This place breed giants!

Or maybe that too, was just his imagination. Heh, what a sad little man he was.

“Are you crying?” The voice asked in a hushed tone. “Oh gods, did I do something? Are you in pain? I'm sorry...”

Why was he apologising? There was nothing to apologise for, it was all his own fault. He was wrong. He was…

Hugged. A pair of arms wound around him - one around his shoulders, the other across his waist - heavy and strong. Gilbert’s heart stuttered when the Hunter pulled him closer to his wide chest and he could feel a cool tip of a nose poking him in the back of his neck.

“Sleep,” the Hunter said into his skin. “Sleep, darling.”

The nose moved up to rest again on the top of his head and Gilbert felt so warm, so safe. He put his hands on the arms crossed on his chest and the skin was surprisingly soft, velvety. Absentmindedly, the tips of his fingers moved across the knuckles and tendons as Gilbert tried to reason with himself in his addled state. His head swam again, maybe because he was warm for the first time in ages. But he could feel the Hunter tense and tried to come up with the reason for it. Was it him? Did he do something wrong?

“Ah... good Hunter?” He mused, gently scratching at the backs of his companion’s hands. Was it fur? It felt like fur, very short and soft. How curious. Oh, another shudder. “You are fuzzy,” he chuckled. “Soft and warm.”

The hands twitched in his grip, though, and flattened themselves against his chest. “Don’t,” the Hunter’s voice sounded curiously strained. “Don’t… tease me.”

Oh, and now it was him who was petted, wide, calloused fingertips rubbed at his skin, thumbs skimmed over his ribs. His shirt was parted again and this time Gilbert didn't mind as much. His despair started to settle and disappear among the fog clouding his thoughts. He chuckled again, against the tension building in his bones once more, his knees came together again to stop the excitement of his flesh from showing… and that move and a subsequent hiss made him aware that he’s not the only one excited.

Oh goodness, indeed.

 

***

 

Oh gods, this was just too much. He thought that he can handle it, to be so close to the fragile, lovely human who caused all of his instincts to boil, and not be tempted… and he was doing so well, even when he had to pull Gilbert closer to keep him warm. Even when his friend started to shiver and weep silently.

But then the petting started. Trembling fingers scratched gently at his knuckles, dipped into the sensitive places between his fingers, ruffling the fur - and each of these little seemingly inconsequential touches went straight to the Hunter’s crotch.

“Don’t,” he whispered in the end, overwhelmed and on the edge of doing something about it. “Don't tease me.”

The Beast was silent, shockingly, but its presence could be felt, heavy and looming. Waiting.

His nerves were hanging on a string by the time Gilbert shifted - the reason was obvious for anyone with a working nose on their face, the scent of arousal flared up in the scrap of the space between them - and accidentally brought his thigh in contact with the Hunter’s groin.

He almost bit his own tongue in half when his fangs snapped close to stop a moan from escaping him.

“Don't… move.” He growled instead, burying his face in the tangle of his friend’s hair, trying to calm his blood with the soothing smell. “Don’t… stay still.” It was all he could do to keep his hands still on the man’s chest and not rip the thin shirt apart. He didn't know what he’d do after that - having ever been  with a man in that fashion before… that is, he saw it a few times, in the past, back in the mines… he kind of knew what went where, but the sole notion of actually _doing it_ terrified him. “I’m sorry…”

These thin fingers tightened on his hands painfully and the Hunter was overcame with an urge to laugh. Look at them, two idiots, laying together like a married couple, both hard and itching for it, and acting like two goddamn virgins!

Gods - a thought struck him suddenly. Was Gilbert a… no, he couldn’t be! He was in his thirties! A gentleman as intelligent and good looking as him had to have at least _some_ experience in, eh, dalliances. If not with men then surely with ladies…?

“This is so silly…” the man had to read his mind, because he chuckled and voiced his exact thoughts. “We’re both… and still! This is my dream and I’m acting like a scared child…”

This wasn’t the best time to tell him that this whole thing wasn’t a dream, was it? Hell, he could not even hope to move away at this point and walking seemed like a dreadful idea without some sort of relief first…

“Ridiculous!” Gilbert seemed to snap at himself. “If I have this chance… eh, I may be dead tomorrow!”

“No, don’t,” the Hunter tightened his embrace. “Don’t say that.”

“You’re always so kind to me…so very kind. I am so sorry for tarnishing this friendship in such way… I’d just…” The murmured voice took on some tortured quality that the Hunter could sympathise with. “If you’d…” The grip on his hands changed and the Hunter almost swallowed his heart when they were pulled down. Flush against Gilbert’s flat stomach and right between his legs. “...please.”

His mind left the scene.

 ** _“Well then,” _**  the Beast purred, delighted at this turn of events **_“Isn’t he a shameless little thing.”_**     

_ “Oh, gods. What.” _

**_ “Eloquent as always, brat.”  _ **

There was little time for arguing with the monster, because it felt like the blood in his body will boil and start dripping out of his ears. He could feel through the thin cotton shift, at the tips of his clawed fingers - the hard warm flesh. His hands held down by a pair of weak human ones and additionally trapped by the soft press of chastely closed thighs.  
  
Gods, oh Gods this had to stop. Or he will lose all control and this time the Beast will have nothing to do with it. But…

His fingers moved almost against his will, wrapping around the quickly stiffening member through the fabric - a gentle caress, nothing more, but Gilbert shuddered all over and released a soft keen that tightened the Hunter’s fingers even more.

A cursed loop, he thought with a shade of hysterical humour.

But then, Gilbert was experiencing something nice was he? He was in the same state as the Hunter, and it was so easy to make him moan with pleasure, just a soft press of his fingers was enough to make the man shiver and press into his chest, searching for more contact.  
  
**_ “Thrilling isn’t it, kid? ”_** The Beast smirked spitefully, destroying the short moment of wonder he was experiencing.   ** _“But unfair. Give us some relief, fuck him! He’s all, but asking for it!”_**  
  
_“...” _  
  
**_“Come on, don’t tell me you’re still wavering!” _**  
  
No. He wasn’t. He just didn't want to take advantage of the one friend he had in this town. He already did enough, caused Gilbert enough fright, and now he was lying to him by omission, because this wasn’t a dream. No matter how much he wished it was otherwise… wait, what?

Before he’s managed to question this thought properly Gilbert arched against him with a strangled moan and, as luck would have it, pressed his backside - _again_ \- against the Hunter’s crotch and his own strained erection.

He blanked out for a blink of an eye when a white hot pleasure shot up his spine. Only for a fraction of a second - and when he came back their positions have changed. He was crouched on all fours above his friend’s back, breathing like an animal in heat, bared fangs dangerously close to the sweet, thin skin of his neck...  
  
**_“Do it. Bite him, mark him for all the beasts to know he’s yours!”_**  The Beast growled triumphantly.  
  
And he would have done it without any hesitation - the blood-milk scent beckoned him like a spell - if a quiet little plea did not ring the alarm bell inside the human part of his splitted mind.  
  
“...good Hunter… please, it hurts…”  
  
“...What?” Was the only word he managed to think, before it hit him like a pebble right in the face.

Gilbert’s wrists were bracing the pillow, held in place by his own claws. He was nearly crushing the man with his weight and  _he could not let him go_ _._ Oh dear Gods, no, he couldn’t move away!  
  
_** “And you said you didn’t want this to happen. Pathetic child, losing control just because he touched you. And this is just a beginning!”**_

_ “What…? A beginning of what?!”  _

**_ “Brat, you have to get off and you will.”  _ **

_ “Not.like.this!” _

It cost him inhuman amount of strength to unclench his fingers and heave himself back, gracelessly falling on the floor. The pain of his hip meeting hardwood was inconsequential to the suffering the movement of fabric against his privates brought. Gods, what was happening, he’s never had a reaction this strong! This wasn’t his first erection ever, goddamnit, why was it like that?!

**_ “Because you’re not human now, idiot!” _ **

_ “Shut up!” _

**_ “You thought that the Embrace will bestow you with power only? You get all the instincts that go along with it, brat! You are half beast, when will you get it through your thick skull?!” _ **

_“Shut up!”_  He just needed to breathe and get a hold on himself.

**_ “You either drown this in sex or in blood, and both are conveniently present.”  _ **

_“I will not hurt him!”_  Just breathe.

“Good Hunter?” A whisper from the top of the bed. ”I’m sorry…”

Why was he apologising? It wasn’t his fault!

 ** _“He still hasn’t rejected you I’ve noticed, ”_**  the Beast mused. **_“You’re the only one who keeps making this difficult.”  _**

_ “What if I don't want to have sex this way?!” _

**_ “How can you know, you never had it.” _ **

That one burned right down to his soul. So what if he’s been - if he’s never made love to anyone yet? He was young, there was no time limit on it! It’s not like he’s had many chances to romance anyone in his life so far. In the village no one wanted to even come close to him because of his cursed eye, and then the mines… the less said about the mines, the better, but for the fact that the damned place made him aware of how things worked. He’s _seen_ how it's done, knew what goes where and was fully aware how bad it can end when one of the sides is not agreeing to the idea.

**_ “So far that person is you and I don't think that your little friend can hurt us in any way.”  _ **

_ “...what if he wants to be on top?” _

The Beast roared with laughter. **_“As if!”_**

_ “He’s older…” _

**_ “And your excuses are getting more and more pathetic!” _ **

They did, didn't they? He was stalling again, hoping that an hour or more will manage to cool him down. Hell, he had two hands, didn't he? Not like he’d never helped himself this way before…

It didn’t work, though.

Laying on the floor, with his hands shoved down the front his trousers, the Hunter bit his lips until they bled and the sound of the Beast’s laughter silenced in his mind.

 _ **“Told you, you’re a beast, act like it!”**_  A murmur came to them from the top of the cot and both Beast and the Hunter turned their ears to the gentle shuffling in the sheets. **_“Oh, he also has two hands, doesn’t he?”_**

That was enough to set fire to the Hunter’s denial.

For god's sake, he was ready to do anything to get this over with! The situation was obviously out of his control - anyone’s control for that matter - and the only thing left was to try and make it as quick and painless as possible.

 ** _“He’s still full of the whore’s blood,”_ ** the Beast supplied, surprisingly kind. _**“It will heal all the damage you’ll cause.”  **_

_ “I don't intend to cause any damage!”    _

He was not an animal, even if the Beast tried to tell him otherwise! He will follow his new instincts, alright, but they will do it his way - and only because said senses came in handy more often than not.

The Hunter inhaled loudly, pulling the air into his lungs, searching for a specific scent and trying to ignore anything that came to him from the cot. He will look there when he’s ready to lose control, because as of now the sounds alone were enough to drive him insane from need.

Lamp oil, various kinds of medicines, weak sedatives, old blood vials - he went through the scents considering and then discarding the options they represented. Nothing useful so far. Soap. Water. Ah, there!

 ** _“What are you doing, brat?”_**  The Beast was getting impatient.

Instead of answering, the Hunter reached into a stack of boxes and medicine bottles piled up by the bed and pulled out a small jar. The Beast peered at it and recoiled from the herbal scent. **_“What is this?!”_**

The Hunter didn't answer, he had only a few higher brain functions left by that point. Methodically he shed what was left of his clothing, shuddering at the feeling of cold air on his heated flesh. The fur along his spine was raised from excitement and he could feel the fangs lengthening in his mouth - the Beast tried to push the transformation further, it would seem. He wasn’t about to let it!

He put the last shred of his clothing away and then, and only then, he dared to turn around and look at his friend. He cursed and praised his keen nightsight at once, because he would be loathe to be deprived of the sight. Gilbert in all his slender glory, arching up on the bed, his shirt open and framing his straining shoulders as the blanket slipped off his body and yet still managed to protect his dignity - somewhat. One of his hands was covering his mouth, two fingers showed between his teeth to stifle the noises he kept making as his other hand worked magic between his legs.

It was a sight that the Hunter wished would imprint on the backs of his eyes - if Master Willem was right and he had any inside of his skull - that he would never forget it. He would go to sleep to that.    

Half-closed eyes were wet with moisture and clouded, but the clouds dispersed somewhat when the Hunter climbed back on the bed. “Good… Hunter..?” Gilbert whimpered between his fingers. “You’re… still… here?”

“Yes.” Did his voice was naturally so husky? Or was it arousal that made it almost an octave lower? “Where else would I go?”

“Ah... oh no!” Gilbert tensed and covered his eyes. “Don’t… look!”

“Why?”

“...it’s shameful.”

“Then there’s two of us.” He moved the blanket away and slid easily between the man’s legs; pale thighs wound around his hips and he was welcomed with a pleasured mewl. “See? I’m no better than you are.”

Gilbert fumbled for a moment before he’s managed to find his voice and order his limbs. His hands ended up on the Hunter’s shoulders, fingers digging into tense muscles. All the embarrassment seemed to evaporate as he pushed his face against Hunter’s collarbone and nuzzled it with a deep sigh. “You’re… bigger… than I thought.” He murmured.

The Hunter wound one arm around the thin waist and pulled the man closer, pressing his hips down, slotting their members along one another and providing friction that had them both gasping. “I hope… that the size is appreciated.” He muttered back.

Gilbert chuckled helplessly at the bad joke, but arched up all the same. “Can you… finish it now? Please…?”

Ah, now, about that. “I will.”

He dipped his head and licked along his partner’s neck, nipping at the soft skin under his jaw. The taste and every reaction to his attentions went straight to his cock so he didn’t intend to stop. Gilbert’s ears were small compared to his, and apparently very sensitive, because when he pulled the soft tip between his teeth to worry it a bit the reaction was instantaneous.

“Ah! Good Hunter!”

For a man so slender Gilbert had enough strength in his thighs to almost cut a man in half when he pulled them together. The Beast purred and urged him on, to taste the soft skin on both pale shoulders, to nose at the two tiny pebbles of the nipples, both pert and rosy on the expanse of pale skin. Everything about Gilbert was soft and fragile, like bird’s bones, mapping his ribs and thighs with the tips of his claws brought a previously unknown thrill to the Hunter. Not one found in a fresh kill, no, the opposite, a thrill of having something gentle in his hands that clung to him and demanded more with its every breath.

“You’re so warm…” Gilbert gasped out when the Hunter nipped at one of his nipples. “So… soft…” Thin fingers tangled in the ashen mane and, instead of trying to push the half-beast away, they pulled. “I wish… I wish it wasn’t a dream _mh!_ ”

Head held in place, mouth full of delicious flesh, the Hunter could not answer, but he relayed the sentiment of ‘so do I’ with a roll of his hips that almost cost him two handfuls of hair.

“Come… come up…” he was pulled up and went easily. “I need…”

He was kissed, again, taken by surprise. A pair of warm lips and an eager tongue that demanded entry, and only the momentary strike of reason had him deny it. Few men could be fooled into not realising that something is wrong when they felt a full set of fangs in their lover’s mouth. But, gods, the disappointed sound this one made when denied tore at the Hunter’s heart.

“Sorry,” he whispered, nipping at the small ear in apology. “I don’t…can’t. Sorry.”

“No, it’s alright… it’s my dream after all.” Gilbert went back to petting his hair and kneading the back of his neck, and the Hunter almost suffocated him under his relaxed weight. “Uh, you’re like… a big cat… my Hunter.”

Oh, that had his claws deep in the mattress and his fangs millimetres from marking the man.

My Hunter, no, not at all. _“ My human,”_ more likely. _“ My friend. My...” _

“Can I?” He whispered against his lover’s temple. “Will you let me?” The small jar was stuck between his hip and the wall, the contents slowly warming from his skin. Waiting to be used.

“Wha…?” Gilbert moaned at another rough thrust, dazed. “Will what…?”

Hopelessly aroused, the Hunter instead of explaining reached down with one hand, gently easing it down his lover’s hip, across the sensitive skin where the thigh joined it and lower, only to stop when Gilbert seemed to get the message.

“ _Oh._ ”

“Yes.”

“You want…?”  

“I’d very much like to, yes.” He was boiling from the inside, but unable to proceed until the permission has been given. His humanity depended on it. “Please… gods, please let me. I will make it good for you. Please.” His dignity, not as much.

The Beast, curiously silent until now, roared with displeasure and clawed at him, making enough ruckus that he almost missed the barely there, whispered, “Alright.”

“Thank you,” the Hunter kissed Gilbert first on one then the other eyelid, weak with relief. Careful of his fangs, he kissed his mouth and returned to worrying his ear while his hands were busy elsewhere. “Thank you…”

The jar’s lid popped open and dropped to the floor, sweet smelling contents were more important - a thick, greasy ointment made for some affliction or the other, smelling of harmless herbs and gloriously slick. It was warm on his fingers, and he knew it would enhance the already blazing heat in his stomach. He wasn’t wrong, as soon as his fingertips touched his own flesh he twitched, his mouth moving away from the tiny ear to bite the pillow so Gilbert wouldn’t hear him moan.  
  
“...good Hunter? Are you…”  
  
Ah.Gilbert did hear him anyway.

 

***

 

This dream was taking turns that Gilbert was sure he wouldn’t dare to come up with at any time other than in the throes of some devilish fever. His imaginary lover was much bolder than he usually dared to let them be and the whole scene was much more detailed than he was used to. Usually it was just a kaleidoscope of wry grins, chiseled flesh and smart hands, followed by sensations of touch, vague pleasure that mounted until he came - and then, shame. Despair over his sick mind and unmanly desires.

But that was for the morning. Now… now every touch scalded his skin and every kiss had a taste. Masculine smell invaded his senses and the flesh under his hands was hot and alive. He would be inclined to believe it was reality - if not for these small details that betrayed reason: the sheer size of the Hunter was ridiculous, his skin felt like velvet and no human skin was like that, literary metaphors had to get to him at some point. Too many cheap romances, most probably. The claws and the sharp teeth nipping at him, the rasp of a tongue that was much sharper than possible…

The audaciousness of that last request! He’d never…!

That was shameless, that was… That made him shudder, just the thought of it. Would he really dare to go that far?  

That was different than his dreams so far, where he could pretend that it’s just a momentary madness that took a hold of him, that it was just something his mind came up with on its own. If he let this happen - let the Hunter _take_ him - any plausible deniability will go up in smoke.

What if it’s awful? If it’s painful and he hates it?

Or even worse, if he likes it?

The Hunter begged, though, so desperate, and it was a stroke of insanity that had Gilbert saying, “Alright.” He regretted it as soon as the word left his mouth, but there was no time to take it back as the Hunter thanked him like he was dying of thirst and Gilbert just promised him a glass of water.

He wished he could see the man, gods, how he wished to see his expression when their bodies separated and he could feel a hand slip between them. The smell of herbs and an almost pained sounding hiss made him aware what was most probably happening and heat blossomed on Gilbert’s cheeks. Good gods! Was he ready? Will it hurt as much as he imagined it will? He didn't have the Hunter’s cock in his hands yet - he doubted that he’d ever have the chance or the courage to do it - but what he felt against his underbelly was… well, proportional to the rest.  

He should stop this. Redirect this dream onto the safer waters, he was not even remotely ready to be… Gods he didn't even dare to think the words, how could he hope to go through with it?

But, as much as he strained his psyche, the dream stayed on course, the Hunter kept his ear captive and that in turn rendered Gilbert unable to speak. Who would have thought that it would be the ears that were so sensitive? Was it his own mind trying to confront him with his hidden desires? That sounded appropriately logical… but, then, was he really wishing for… this? To be taken by someone, instead of being the one on top? What did it say about him?

Laying on his back, with his legs spread and a man between them, gasping like a woman…

And yet there was something in him that almost purred at the notion. Something that adored the weight pressing him into the mattress, the possessive touches, the little nips. The feeling of safety it brought to be so possessed by another.

But his common sense was still trying to point him towards the light and it would be best if he stopped this now, before it comes to the point where he can’t live with himself anymore…

“ _Nghhhh! Hah!_ ”

Was this sound… made by a human? The Hunter? A low, gravelly groan that had every single hair on Gilbert’s body standing up on end - and not only that. Like a magic spell it sent all the remaining blood powering his brain south. Gilbert slapped both hands over his mouth to stifle his own moan when is member strained and his hips rose shamelessly, seeking friction and relief.  

“No, no, don’t…” the Hunter rasped in the darkness and a strong hand pulled both of Gilbert’s away from his face. “Let me hear you, I need… to hear your voice…”

But he was not ready to be heard moaning like a harlot! In the last desperate attempt to muffle the sounds he clenched his teeth on the only thing available - a piece of flesh in front of his face, which happened to be a collarbone.

Then the world upturned; Gilbert found his face pressed into the pillow, his hands trapped in an unrelenting grip. He barely managed to get his bearing, but by then it was already too late, his hips were pulled up and the moan he wanted to stop was torn out of him against his will.  

 

***

 

The prey gasped into the pillow, lips opened wide, unseeing eyes staring into darkness. The sound it made as the Beast pushed the last bit of his shared flesh into its waiting body was heavenly.

 ** _“There, brat,”_**  the Beast purred in delight at the heat surrounding their cock, salivating at the sight of their catch, spread under them like an offering.    ** _“That’s how it’s done.”_**

The Hunter didn’t answer with a scathing remark or anything else, for that matter. Speechless and dumb, he tried to regain his senses.

 _“ Good gods… ”_ No one ever told him, he would not expect it to… to feel like this. He’s seen - he’s heard stories from his past friends… he just never thought. Was it the Beast parts of him that added to the sensations? Was it that whole damned instinct that dove him as deep as he could go? _“ Gilbert…” _

Good gods, he hoped that they didn’t hurt him! Too rough, too much, he wasn’t prepared, he was human, he…

 ** _“He’s full of the whore’s blood and it’s still at work, if we caused any damage it has already been healed! He can’t feel pain under Ministration, stupid boy!”  _**      

Well, yes, that was true, but it still didn’t excuse their mindlessness! The man was trembling underneath them.

“Gilbert…?” The Hunter whispered softly into his lover’s temple. He tried to stay as still as possible, even though his hips kept twitching. “Darling? I’m sorry, I… are you alright?” The man opened one eye and looked in the direction of his face, the pupil was blown big and there were tears dripping over the bridge of his nose. “Oh gods, I’m sorry!” The Hunter panicked. “Please, don’t cry! I am so…”

“You’re… bigger…” Gilbert swallowed thickly before finishing with a wry twist of his lip. “Than I… thought.”

 ** _“Heh, the boy is tougher than you,”_** the Beast sneered. **_“If he can take it like a man, you can act like one! Give him something to cry about!”  _**

 “I’m sorry for the sudden…”

“Was it the... bite?”

“...yes.”

**_ “Move!”  _ **

“Wait,” a deeply drawn breath and Gilbert released it slowly. “Let me... see...”

The first shift of his hips had the Hunter growling softly into the back of his neck, fighting to keep still and let him get used to the new feeling. He pushed his claws into the mattress again, each shallow push back stealing air from his lungs.

The pale neck on front of him was tantalisingly close, so he nipped at the skin with an edge of a fang, returning the favour that that turned him mindless a moment ago. “Is that alright?” He whispered.

“Yeah… it feels… nice.” Gilbert whispered back.

Thank gods for the Ministration.

 ** _“Nice?”_**  The Beast sounded insulted. **_“I will show you nice!”_**

   

***

 

Gilbert didn't squeal, no. Not that. The sound he made when the Hunter’s hips snapped against his, driving the cock deeper into his body that he himself dared to, was certainly not a squeal! He was just surprised! Overwhelmed. He was…

Then the Hunter did it again and the sound repeated. And again. Each rough thrust pushing him forward, making him scramble for a hold, hitting something inside of him that had his toes curling and his eyes watering in no time. He wasn’t wrong, the Hunter was proportional, his length thick enough for the movement to sting even in fantasy - in reality he would be probably crying by now.

Well, he was, but the reason was not the pain - rather the emotions pushing at him from all sides. He was full of another man’s flesh, on his knees, in the most undignified pose imaginable, taken like a beast of burden, roughly pushed and pulled by a strength encompassing his own. It felt awful. He loved it.

That part of him that found safety in being conquered grew and pushed out any mentions of shame or regret, it relished in the feeling of the heavy body moving over his own, of the muscled arm wound around his chest to hold him in place. The teeth pulling at the skin on the back of his neck were welcomed with a moan Gilbert could swear was too wanton for his thorat. Then, a silent apology and soft lips smoothed the little hurt, whispered across his shoulders, mouthed at his protruding vertebrae. He never felt so warm and… cared for. And that, more than even his body’s demands to get to the end, made this whole situation more than bearable.  

“Ah, my Hunter…” he gasped at one particularly well aimed thrust and was rewarded with another one. So he repeated the words in a breathless whisper. “My Hunter!” He repeated them until he couldn’t draw breath and his thighs shook from the strain of trying to hold himself up, he couldn’t even attempt to push back, just taking it was all his frail body could manage. “My Hunter…”

The heat kept building in the pit of his stomach, alongside his spinal cord; his hands somehow found the Hunter’s and their fingers entwined on his stomach and by his head. “My Hunter, please...!” He moaned shamelessly, asking for release. “I can’t any longer…” Sweat dripped down his ribs and his muscles started to seize, and he was still not close enough… Just a touch would be enough to push him over the edge, a couple strokes.

But when he tried to reach between his legs to bring himself off, his hand was stopped and held. “What…”

“Not yet… wait…” The Hunter growled into his abused ear and bit it for good measure. The next trust was strong enough to rattle his teeth. “Like that.”

What? Was he saying that…?

“ _My Hunter_ … ” Gilbert begged. “Please, not… _please!_ ” 

Not like that, not like a woman! He could not come from the thrusts alone, no matter how that thing inside of him sung through his bones with pleasure. It wasn’t enough!

“Come now, darling, up!”

The arm around his waist pulled and he went with it, manhandled into his knees, into sitting on the Hunter’s lap, forced to sink lower in his cock and _oh gods in heavens that was something completely else!_  

 

***

 

That was a good decision, apparently, because Gilbert all but mewled and melted against the Hunter’s chest, boneless with pleasure, but for his cock that strained against his stomach, demanding release. The Hunter had a momentary urge to touch it, to help his lover and push him over the edge, but at the last moment his hand landed on the pale thigh and stroked the thin skin at the joining point, making the man shiver helplessly and push back against him. Each of these minute movements caused additional friction against his member and made him shiver in turn.

“There, darlin’, shh,” he murmured, nuzzling the side of Gilbert's neck soothingly. “You can do it now, I’ll help ya, promise,” he started to slip into his old accent the more of his brain evaporated with each taste of the white skin. “Come now, take what ya need…”

He was feeling cruel, but in the long run he wanted to be kind; he was nowhere close to coming and if Gilbert went over the edge now, he would only suffer, helpless and oversensitive, until they get their pleasure. He was also getting rougher and was afraid what may happen if all control stays in his hands.  

He put his hands on his lover’s hips and helped him raise up before letting him fall. After the first couple of tries, the man got ahold of it and even though his legs were unsteady and his whole body shook, the need urged him on. “That’s it, darlin’, take it.”

It was slow going, but the pleasure kept mounting and the sight of this pale creature, so slight and brittle, and yet so shameless in his passion, made things to the Hunter that were hard to describe. He wanted to possess his human, he wanted to devour him down to the smallest bones - he wanted to wrap him into his own skin and never let him go. He wanted to see him come on his cock more than anything.

He was slowly losing his mind…

 

***

This wasn’t working. Gilbert gasped as hot tears flowed down his face - from the strain of movement and the strain of his body staying stubbornly on the edge of falling, from the cruelty of his Hunter and the way it made him even more aroused. And yet he still couldn’t… The hands clenched on his hips were a help and distraction at the same time, strong and warm, but so ridiculously big, making him aware how thin he was. How gaunt the illness made him. He could barely draw breath, his body was close to collapsing into a heap, and every little caress and lick along his neck made his ribs feel even tighter. He just needed a bit more… he needed the Hunter to take control again, to make him…

He was not strong enough to keep this up and the thought of being left like that on the verge of an orgasm for even one minute more terrified him.

There was only one thing that could be done, because wishing for a change in the dream didn’t work.

Feeling devious, but justified, Gilbert allowed his body to fall back. The Hunter’s arms went up to hold him securely and he pushed into that embrace, trying to catch his breath. Sweet nothings were whispered into his temple, interrupted with small kisses that had his insides melting and his heart swelling. The column of flesh inside of him was hot and every move brought on more torture, but the Hunter seemed in control of himself.  

Gilbert changed it in one move, clenching his teeth on the shoulder he was leaning against.  

He thought he was prepared for the sudden shift, but the wall meeting the side of his face was a surprise and the force that pushed him against it was unrelenting. His hipbones grated painfully against the cold surface making him cry out in distress - but not as much as the sudden emptiness when the Hunter backed away.

But there was no time to even despair about the startlingly acute lack of contact, because the world shifted again and he was thrown down, strongly enough for the bed to creak. Then his bones creaked in the same sound as his legs were unceremoniously forced apart and then he was crying out like a wild thing when the Hunter drove into him again, this time rough enough to cause him pain.

Still, none of these managed to weaken his erection, the exact opposite. Gilbert arched out under the crushing weight, wrapping his limbs around it, holding on for dear life.

“Yes, that… _my Hunter,_ ” he moaned with abandon, close. So close. “More… please more…”

The voice that answered his pleas was near inhuman, however, and spoke with a strange inflection. **_“Oh you will get more, kitten, until you beg me to stop!”_**

“Yes… yes…” He would agree to everything as long as the Hunter keeps pushing into him, keeps that fire burning. “Come on, please…” Hot mouth closed around his pulse and sharp teeth clamped down, and with a strangled mewl Gilbert came.

He might have blanked out for a few seconds, the orgasm was more powerful than anything he has ever experienced. His limbs went taut and for a moment there he almost lifted the Hunter up regardless of his diminutive size. A wave of hot pleasure washed through him time after time, crashing into his nerves with every thrust, robbing him of air and blood and reason, because the Hunter was not stopping!

“Come on!” He urged when his senses returned enough to make him aware that anymore of that and he may go insane. His skin felt thin like paper, so sensitive that every touch made him to shiver,  “My Hunter, done… _enough…_ ”

“Not yet…. kitten.”

Gods, a moment more and he will faint… it hurt, the sensations were too much, too strong…

To his shock, he came for for a second time, but there was no relief in it. His cry echoed around the room, more tortured than pleased.

“...enough…” he choked out, desperately clawing at the Hunter’s back, trying to make him stop. Sweaty fringe covered his eyes as he kept on begging against his lover’s chest, until his words turned into senseless babble and his limbs turned too weak to move. “... my Hunter!...” He nosed at the velvety skin, weak, resigned to his fate.

A patch of raised skin caught briefly against his lips - curiously rough and bare, unlike the rest. Strange enough to be a distraction. Gilbert nuzzled his cheek against it - and the trusts faltered for one precious moment. Desperate, he licked the patch - a broad, wet sweep of the tongue…

....and he was almost pushed through the mattress and the bed frame. The Hunter drove into him with beastly ferociousness and with a strained growl closed his jaws on the tender place where neck met shoulder.

Incredulously, that was enough to make Gilbert come for the third time. And this time it was enough to knock him out.

 

***

 

He saw stars. Cosmos exploded in front of his eyes and filled his nerves with electricity; like during his bout with Paarl, it left him breathless and dazed. The Beast, momentarily stunned, allowed the human part to push it back, relinquished control over their body - and in the right moment too, because their teeth were buried in soft flesh to the gums and their mouth was full of blood. Gilbert released a startled sound as his own flesh climaxed for the third time and trembled with strain it caused him before his eyes closed and he lost consciousness.

The Hunter closed his eyes, clung to his lover and tried to wait the best of it out, tried not to crush him with his weight on top of everything else he’s done to him. It seemed to take forever until the last echoes of the climax died away. The Beast purred inside its cage, satisfied; its influence gentled into barely a shadow cast over the Hunter’s thoughts and the wild, violent instincts it symbolised left entirely.

When the Hunter finally came back to his senses he was covered in sweat and shaking with strain, like after a clash with a cleric beast! Every exhale reverberated in his throat until it sounded like a growl, and his eyelids felt impossibly heavy. But there was that thin body underneath him, warm and lax, breathing softly, and he had to pull his teeth out of it.

Slowly, he unclenched his jaws and released the abused flesh; he gently tongued the wounds, gathering any escaped blood, trying to soothe the pain. The Ministration did its work in a few minutes, filling the deep grooves, but he still gave it a few licks, just to be sure. The skin grew raised in places, the bruise turned into a scar, a near perfect semi-circle accented by four fang-marks: a  true keepsake. Remorse was trying to choke him with guilt, but the Hunter still could not stop himself from placing a soft kiss in that little dip between his friend’s collarbones. A thanks, an apology, a promise to never again… Gods, he was messed up.

He did his best to slip out of Gilbert’s body without disturbing him, and cast around for something to clean the mess he’s left with.

 ** _“Lick him,”_**  the Beast murmured faintly and the Hunter cursed.

Gilbert’s discarded night shirt had to do - it was splashed with blood and he intended to burn it from the beginning. Time for pretending nothing had happened passed when he took a bite out of the man, the scars could not be reasoned away. He could not spit out more lies, anyway, the only option left was to tell the truth and beg forgiveness, and then piss off for good, because Gilbert was a kind man, but even the kindest of them all wouldn't be able to forgive something like that. If it was a dream, it might have been a bit disturbing, but overall the best one he’s ever had - but it wasn’t a dream. He repeatedly lied by omission and used the situation to… well, he used Gilbert, in short.

He lifted his own shirt from the floor and carefully folded his friend's arms into the sleeves - it was a new shirt, he picked it up from a deserted house a few streets back. Alfred or the Chapel Dweller didn’t usually mind him showing up bloody and covered in gore, but for some reason he couldn’t stand the thought of showing up at Gilbert’s or Arianna’s windows in anything, but his best. The best in the present conditions wasn’t all that great, but it was something.

Gilbert was ridiculously light and easy to manhandle into the garment, it was too big for him, but at least thick cotton fabric protected him from cold. The blanket returned on the bed that the Hunter did his best to straighten out before he dropped. He needed to find a few more blankets and being then here, this one was just pathetic.

He wanted to go and air out his head - the room smelled of sex and blood, and for his enhanced senses it was pure torture, but at the same time his legs felt like overcooked noodles. He wouldn't be able to get to the door, much less outside. What he could do was to crack the window open a bit before his body gave out. Gods, but sex was exhausting! He’d rather go toe to toe with Father Gascoigne in a duel, than… no, alright, it was a lie.

He will never forget this night, there was nothing in his life so far that could compare to it.

Gilbert was asleep by his side, breathing easily for the first time since the Hunter met him, so hopefully Arianna’s blood could be the key to healing him. Was it enough to give him one dose? He will have to go the Ward and ask for more…

He tried to keep his limbs to himself on the ridiculously small cot, but it was hard. Something inside of him argued that he has to protect the small male and take care of him now - it wanted him to pull Gilbert to their chest and hold him close, secure, warm. But he couldn’t… he already did too much, took so many liberties with his friend's body, marked him for life! He was a beast and he should keep his dirty paws to himself from now on!

 ** _“You’re pathetic, that’s what you are!”_**  The Beast rumbled from the bottom of their mind. ** _ “What difference will it make now? We bit him, he’s marked… can‘t you keep your mate warm, brat?”_**

 _“Mate?”_  The Hunter flinched. _“What are you talking about?”  _

But the beast just shook its head. **_“Hopeless… he's ours now, to fuck whenever we please, and any beast that sees him will know… hey, where are you going?!”_**

He was leaving. He had to go, get out, leave Gilbert and stay as far away from him as he could manage.

**_ “Brat, stop panicking… brat!”  _ **

_ “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”  _

Clothes were thrown on haphazardly, he didn't bother to properly buckle his shoes. He took one look at his overcoat - it was a Churchman’s garb, clean and in good repair - and spread it on the bed, over the sleeping figure. It will have to do for now. He tucked the corners around the thin shoulders and grief kept swelling in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the friend he had betrayed so magnificently there were no words to describe it. But no, not a friend, not anymore. A mate he had now, bonded to him by accident. “So sorry…” He kissed the warm, soft mouth for the last time, already feeling like a thief. “I will be back… later.”

He intended to find the deepest body of water in Yharnam and jump into it. Hopefully, he will drown.

 ** _“Brat!” _**  The Beast was awake now and growled at him in anger. **“Stop being so dramatic, if you don't want a mate, just kill him and be done with it!”**

 _“If **I ** don’t want a mate? I?!”_  The Hunter picked his stash from the hall and fastened his weapons to the belt across his chest. _“What about him? What of his wants and his life now!”_

The lock still needed fixing, but the Hunter was in no state to take care about it. Two massive ornate coffins stacked across the doorway had to do for now - it would take more than a man’s strength to push them away and the beasts didn’t wander out onto the lookout.

 ** _“Where are you going now!”_** The Beast snapped.

 _“...to kill something!”_ The Hunter snapped back.

Cathedral Ward seemed like a good place to start.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We decided to call the Hunter by his name on his POV for this chapter, it should be less confusing!

The crawling crow didn't have time to make its first bark when a serrated blade cleaved it neatly in half. It died with a pitiful gurgle, but Nal didn’t spare it even one look. His stride was hard and decisive, his face set in a grimace that would scare the population if they weren’t already hiding in their homes. Saw Cleaver dripped with blood and gore, and they haven’t even made a full circle around the Ward yet.

 **_“Stop it, brat!”_ ** The Beast kept growling at him, displeasure growing the more distance he put between them and certain window in Central Yharnam. **_“Stop acting like a fool and go back!”_ **

_“Not a chance,”_ he answered through a tightly controlled rage.

**_“You leave your mate like that? Alone and unprotected! What a moral creature you are!”_ **

_“And you seem awfully concerned about Gilbert’s wellbeing all of a sudden!”_ That word, _mate_ , he couldn't even think it. It made him feel sick to the stomach. _“For someone who just a while ago urged me to kill him!”_

The fountain plaza came into view and there was always something that needed to be killed around it. Nal directed his steps there.

 **_“That’s what I’m talking about!”_ ** The Beast snapped at him and it almost hurt. **_“You can’t leave it like that, in the air! It’s not how this works! Either claim him properly or finish him off!”_ **

_“Claim him… I think we’re a bit beyond that!”_

The instincts waring with common sense only added to his confusion. These sick fantasies they tried to push on him, these stupid, stupid rules they tried to enforce. He wasn’t an animal, godsdamnit! He was a human being and he refused to lower himself to such base level…

And, more importantly, Gilbert wasn’t an animal either! He was a man - a lovely, kind, brilliant man they’ve used… And as if that wasn't enough, they’ve marked him irreversibly! Like he was a cattle or some… some… pet! Like he belonged to them in any sense of the word!

The Beast once more crashed into the walls of the mind caging it. **_“He belongs to us now, brat! It’s not perfect, he’s weak and useless, but there it is! He’s our mate until he dies and you have to take responsibility!”_ **

Useless?!  

_“I am taking responsibility!”_

A stumbling creature appeared before them, one of the poor plague-ridden wretches that tougth it can ambush them by hiding behind a stack of bone-filled boxed. As if. Nal sidestepped the wildly flailing fire poker (really? That was just sad) and relieved the poor chap of his head in one clean swipe. The move lacked its usual grace, though, it was violent and too wide - the Hunter was too angry to focus on his craft at the moment, rage filled his every vein and fear tried to burst out of his chest. He was a mess…

He should get some clothes, at least, but that thought was pushed into the back of his mind. What a view he had to make, marching like a madman, with no shirt or an overcoat, in just a vest that at this point was splattered with blood, more red than white.

_“I am taking responsibility by keeping you away from him!”_

Useless! Gah!

Gilbert was anything, but that! He was the one sane person in this city that the Hunter could speak with! A normal being not swayed by the madness, not privy to the insanity that the Church had called upon Yharnam! He was intelligent and erudite, and raised with good English morals the Hunter could only be jealous of.

He was kind to the lonely wretch that stumbled upon his window with no knowledge of anything, no purpose and no name. He waited patiently for said wretch to get his bearings and, even though he was in pain and exhausted by the illness, he tried to help him. And he didn't mind when the Hunter kept returning, kept ranting about the mishaps he was experiencing, about the horrors Yharnam threw at him.

And… well, he appreciated it. More than he could express with words. To have someone like that, a small spark of hope in the darkness his life had become.  Gentleness was hard to find in this city, understanding even harder.

Arianna and Alfred were both good people, of course, but one was pitiless and the other insane. They were friends, or had the potential to become them, but there was no intimacy possible with them, no chance at understanding. The one dwelling in the Odeon Chapel was friendly and kind - but more than a bit unhinged and mentally fragile. Good lady doctor cared for him, but she cared more about his function - that kept her patients safe - than him as a person. The Doll was… a Doll.

 **_“Pathetic!”_ ** The Beast snarled. **_“Weak little boy!”_ **

_“Shut up!”_

If he was weak for that reason, then he was! For wanting a friend, someone close! If he was selfish for using Gilbert for that purpose, then he was! He cared about the man, damnit, he… he cared quite a lot.

**_“If you care about him so much, then walk back and do your duty!”_ **

He wasn’t turning back.

The beastly instincts kept pushing at his mind, but he kept pushing them back. He was not going back, because he was ashamed, because he was angry and because he was…

He was afraid.

Another half-transformed citizen came at him with a makeshift weapon only to meet a tragic end. Pitchforks. Why was it always pitchforks? How many of these bloody things the people of Yharnam owned?!  

**_“You’re working yourself up for no reason, you complete moron!”_ **

_“_ He never agreed to this! _”_ Nal roared out loud, hoping that maybe this will make the Beast understand. “I didn't agree to this, but he… he’s marked for the rest of his life! He’s a human! He thought he was dreaming!”

What will Gilbert do when he wakes up from the healing slumber and discovers the scar on his shoulder? When he sees the state of his bed and realises that everything had happened for real? That he was bedded by a man - by a beast no less! And that said man needs to repeat this feat, but this time he has to stop holding back on the account of his partner being human, or his inner Beast will suffocate him?

What will he think of him? He will surely hate his guts! A decent gentleman such as him, he will be horrified and dismayed for sure! And their easy friendship will burn in the fire of hate.

He had enough of being hated. He had enough of loneliness… he didn't want to go back to how his life used to be!

 **_“Whiny brat, stop indulging in self-pity and listen to me!”_ ** If the Beast could take a hold of their real flesh with its jaws and pull, it would tear chunks out of their sides.  

 _“I’ve listened to you before and this whole mess happened because of that!”_ Nal wouldn’t mind, in his agitation he would probably not even realise. _“That’s what listening to you have brought me, even more despair!”_

**_“You would be nowhere without me!”_ **

_“I would be happy without you!”_

The silence after this outburst was nearly deafening. The Beast’s jaws snapped shut as the Nal fumed wordlessly. He meant it, every single word, he did. If he had less sense than courage, he would claw at the mark on his chest to remove it; but even as angry as he was, he knew that the consequences of removing a rune without proper tools were dire.

But still that thought appeared in his mind and the Beast was close enough to see it.

 **_“Very well.”_ ** It growled after a momentary pause. It straightened proudly and gave the Hunter the darkest of looks. **_“See how you manage on your own. Hope that the Moon cares enough about your scrawny ass to save it once more!”_ **

And then… silence. Blessed silence and emptiness in their shared headspace. Of what a relief that was…

Until the Hunter realised that it was his hearing that went along with the Beast’s presence. Momentarily shocked, he froze mid-step, the world around him suddenly darker and grayer - and bigger. Gods, he’s lost half a foot between one breath and the next! His claws shrunk and the belt that held his cleaver across his back loosened. What in the name…

That shifty bastard! The Beast took most of his strength when it left! Damn monster, leaving him weaker and smaller!

Thankfully, the transformation didn’t reverse all the way… he would be screwed if it did. Small and gangly, how could he fight his way out of…

Where the hell he was, anyway?

The answer to that question was provided by a cloud of fire that engulfed the world for one terrifying moment, before Nal’s human instincts - so inferior to his beastly ones - kicked in and saved him from having his face burned off. He slid to the side, underneath the spray of flames, feeling the hair on the back of his head curl from the heat. The cleaver snapped open in his hand and the gun barked twice, sending two blind bullets through the firestorm.

One went without an echo, but a low grunt of pain told him that the other reached some sort of flesh. It didn’t incapacitate the opponent, though, if a metal staff striking the pavement at Nal’s feet was to serve as a proof.

He recoiled before the rebound strike, trying to gather his wits enough to counter-attack. Gods, but his feet moved as if he was standing knees-deep in molasses! His field of vision was pathetically narrow and blurry.

But he was going to prevail! He had survived Yharnam before the Embrace in his frail human body, he will survive it now! The Beast could stuff it, he will have the last laugh!

Another wall of flames rushed his way, but this time he was ready. Covering his face with the gun hand, he rolled through it and put all of his strength into a horizontal slash that was designed to hit something!

It did. The pale-faced Warden rocked back on his feet from the power of the strike, the cloth on his side bloomed with red where the razor sharp teeth carved a chunk of flesh out. However, he was already undead, and such things as pain didn’t faze him or his brethren. He simply struck back.

The crack of the metal covered end of the staff hitting his temple blinded the Hunter momentarily. His limbs softened, he had to scramble to hold on to his weapons. The only bit of luck was in that that it was the blunt end that reached him. But the spike was quickly following.

Thrown out of balance by the pain and dizziness, Nal barely blocked it with the side of the clever - he had to twist his arm awkwardly to do so and the strength of the impact reverberated through his shoulder. But the Warden wasn’t a mindless beast, it reacted to the block and the clang of steel on steel didn’t even end before it redirected the thrust, burying the spike into Nal’s unprotected thigh. The blade pierced the flesh all the way through and when it was roughly pulled out, blood sprayed across the cobblestones and the Hunter bit his teeth to stop a whimper of pain from escaping him. A wild flail gave him some space to rebalance his stance, but the respite was shorter than a moment.

There was no time to reach for a vial, as the Warden, powered by some unyielding zeal, kept pushing him back, step after step, mindless of his own wound.

The Church scored with them, Nal thought hysterically. Relentless and stubborn, and willing to keep going until they’re in pieces. Obviously better than the fleshy Hunters!

And he was a moron who didn't look where he’s going and almost got his stupid ass fried! He forgot how much of his strength was due to the Beast’s influence. How was he fighting before? With dexterity and speed, and his small size that allowed him to dash away from danger at a moment’s notice. Well, he could kiss that strategy goodbye now, with his vision swimming and his leg close to useless, he could crawl to safety at most!

The first chance at retaliation was completely accidental. He tripped on an upturned cobblestone and leaned to the side with a hiss of pain to compensate. The Warden, not expecting that, overreached and left an opening that Nal was waiting at. Two shots under the armpit and the staff clattered to the ground from the now useless hand. He cocked the gun for the finishing shot into the depth of a black eyeball, sure of his win… Fire exploded into his face, singing his hair, scalding his skin. He fell back with a roar of pain and shock, barely managing to protect his eyes.

Gods, but the monster was persistent!

A deep-rooted fury filled his veins and enough was enough! He charged through the scalding cloud like a madman, swinging the cleaver two handed, putting all of his remaining energy into that one deadly strike.

It connected. It connected real good. When the Warden fell to the ground, it was in two pieces.

“Little bitch…” Nal growled out lifting the weapon one last time. “Stay dead!”

Now, three pieces, that’s more like it.

He was such a fucking mess. His burned lips cracked when he gasped for breath and blood dripped from his bruised temple, he couldn't hear on one ear and his uncovered shoulders were singed. His thigh was a bloody disaster in its own right. The sting of Ministration didn’t even enter his awareness, so minor of a sensation it was compared to everything else. The tingling of the blood repairing the damage was also lost - it was too slow, there was too much to fix for just one vial. And he didn't have anymore - he left them all at… by Gilbert’s bed, just in case.

And he was back at square one, damnit! Thinking of that man, of his kind face, his soft hands, pale thighs…

“Stop it!” He snapped at himself. “Stop this, stop!”

He would tear his own hair out by the handful if everything didn't hurt as much already! Pain was not a distraction at all!

Leaning heavily on a nearby gravestone, Nal wiped the sweat from his eyes and looked around to get his bearing…

“Fuck.”

The blade almost as tall as him shone briefly in the moonlight, before it crashed down, and with his bad leg the Hunter didn't have enough time to dodge it.  

 

***

A man, it would seem, could not have his peace even on the holy ground of the Cathedral Ward. Back in his days it wasn’t so, the Ward was a peaceful and prosperous place, full of saints and holy warriors. Only after the Scourge has spread it became hollow and dark, hostile to everyone, even its own sons and daughters.

The monsters guarding the premises were only a bit more lucid than the beasts they were supposed to guard against. Especially the giants - undead clamouring things, stumbling around with so much noise.

Could a man not find a quiet hour to speak his prayers?  

Alfred was generally a hard man to anger; he strived for goodness in himself and tried to be understanding of others’ shortcomings. He wasn’t, however, completely deaf and that, combined with the ungodly ruckus coming from the graveyard behind the wall at his back, made it very hard to be understanding.

Did the giants catch some poor idiot by surprise? Were they fighting one another, like rabid dogs? Speaking about dogs - maybe another Scourge stricken commando wandered out of their back alleys? Alfred struggled to think of these - mutants - as humans. Half-transformed, they were only pale shadows of the civil citizens he remembered them as. Poor sods, but what could he do to help them other than to don his garb, pick up his sword and ease their fruitless struggle?

It was only a pity that he didn't finish his prayers and that made him a bit more vicious and a bit less forgiving.   

He left the Wheel by the altar, thinking that whatever the commotion was, he won’t need to pull out the heavy weaponry for it, the Kirk was more than enough to cut a bloody swath through a crowd of malformed weaklings.

Only, the ruckus was taking an awful long time now. The giants were stupid, but also immensely strong and relentless, so whatever stood in their way had to be either numerous or quick on its feet… Curious now, Alfred quickened his step around the corner...

“ _Will you bloody piss off already!_ ”  

...and almost whooped with joy as he recognised the cussing voice.

Ah, his dear Hunter has wandered close to his quiet retreat - and continued to make a mess out of it! Of course, who else would dare to take on two giants at the same time? That was a nice surprise, indeed! He still had so many things to tell the Hunter about!

When he came into the graveyard, however, the smile dropped from his face like a dead leaf, because the scene he saw was a complete reverse of what he was expecting.

The Hunter was struggling - nay, he was downright fighting for his life and losing. Badly, from the looks of it! Cornered by two opponents he was doing his best to dodge the swings of the axes, but his moves were sluggish, one of his legs barely held his weight and he kept an arm pressed to his right side, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

For one moment  Alfred stood there, witless, frozen in place by shock.

In the next one, however, he was tearing through the graveyard, sword bared a second before it as buried to the hilt in the dry, undead flesh of the closest giant’s side. Gods, they were tall, he had to reach quite a lot to make the thrust count, but the beast wavered and its axe crashed to the ground away from the Hunter.

“Get behind me!” Alfred shouted to the wounded man, sidestepping a wide swing of a gnarly arm and retaliating with a swift cut that almost removed it at the elbow. “For godssake, take some blood while you’re at it!”

“I’m out…!” The Hunter gasped. The other giant almost stepped on him, but he managed to roll away. Alfred could feel his pain when the man struggled back to his feet. “I have… none left…!”

Cursing all that’s holy in his mind, Alfred neatly feinted to the right, confusing his opponent for one precious second that allowed him to reach into the case on his belt and pull out one vial. “Catch!”

The Hunter, good blood bless him, caught it. But he had no time to stab it into his thigh as he had to dodge the axe again. He stumbled behind a tall gravestone, hoping for some protection, but one powerful punch was enough to crumble it into dust.

This was getting them nowhere!

A sheet of fire paper was enough to turn the Kirk into a tool of righteous revenge. Alfred’s lips pulled back, baring his teeth in a cruel grin; he didn't get to stretch his bones like that in a while, it could be fun.

All Executioners tended to be rather reserved and cautions fighters, taught to be prudent in life as well as on the field - at least that’s how the Church  and the populus knew them to be. Not many knew that in reality these righteous brothers and sisters delighted in showmanship of the highest caliber.  They justified it with the thought that once one had reached certain level of skill, entertainment became an integral element of each duel - it kept the spirit light and urged others to better their own technique.

Alfred, being the last of his kind, sometimes went all out simply to remind Yharnam what his order stood for.

This time, however, he went above and beyond to save a friend’s life.

The giants didn't have a chance when he reached for the fire paper and started to crave into their undead flesh with grim determination. The tombstones around stopped being hindrances and instead became jumping steps for him to reach higher and further, to put even more strength into his strikes. The Kirk roared with flames in his hand, silencing the roars of their foes.  

Anxiety for the Hunter pulled the ravenous smile off his face, short glances thrown his way worried Alfred more than he’d like to admit. One vial was not enough to get the man moving, he stumbled around, from cover to cover, trying to escape the chaotic battle  - no doubt pulling at his healing flesh and disrupting the Ministration. He seemed smaller than before, strangely slighter. Was his runemark failing somehow? That didn’t bode well.

He felled the first giant with a powerful combo that first severed the thing’s leg and then, when its neck was at more reasonable level, also the head. The miserable being died without a murmur, like a good little slave should, spraying around a fountain of bitter smelling blood. Delighted, Alfred breathed in the scent and turned to his next opponent - but that second of fancy was a grave mistake. Master Logarius did tell him quite often that he had these moments of empty headedness that may kill him one day.

This was not the day, but only because of the shouted out warning and a shoulder that smacked into his chest, pushing him out of the way of a giant swinging fist.

The Hunter didn't get to escape on time, the blow sent him flying almost ten yards before an unfortunately placed tombstone stopped him with a sickly crunch.

Alfred saw red for the second time, but this time was final. The giant fell like a cut down tree, with all of the clamor it entitled.

He counted every heartbeat until he could drop to his knees by the prone man and reach out to turn him on his back. Curiously, the amount of blood pooling around the Hunter didn’t excite him at all, instead, it made his insides lurch.

Oh gods, he had already lost his brothers and sisters, don’t take his only friend away too!

The damage the Hunter sported was extensive - and perfectly visible, because the man was hopelessly underdressed. A proper garb maybe wouldn't do much against such brutal strength, but it generally helped to keep the insides, well, inside. His side was torn open and his thigh pierced through; his face and shoulders seemed burned and were purple with bruises. Blood pooled around his prone form in a growing puddle even though the vial Alfred have given him was empty.

So he stabbed another one into the man's thigh. Then another, into his left shoulder. He waited in tense silence, looking for any signs of the Ministration taking hold. But the ragged edges of the wounds weren't filling in and the blood didn't stop leaking.

Was the internal damage so extensive that it took three Ministrations to deal with it? It was a scary thought. Moreover, the place was not safe - bathed in blood as it was, it will soon start to swarm with beasts. They had to move and quick. But for that Alfred had to be sure that the Hunter won't fall apart in his hands when he picks him up.

A trick was in order, something that a past friend had taught him that saved more than one life in a pinch. He was down to four vials, but that was fine, one should be enough. He uncapped the container and carefully poured the precious blood on the edges of every wound he could see. Drop by drop, watching it smoke and sizzle as it took hold and grew new skin over the exposed flesh. There were risks to that method, of course, it was better for the skin to heal from inside out, all the debris caught in the wound were trapped this way…  but there will be time for extracting them later, now Alfred just wanted to patch his friend up and take him somewhere safe.

The Church was out of the question. Not only was the Hunter unaffiliated, his looks would scare the life out of anyone who sees him. New crop of acolytes wasn't knowledgeable of the old hunting methods, for them these runes were probably myths, and the overwhelming paranoia would do the rest.

The Church wasn't how it used to be back in his days. Or maybe it was Alfred that’s changed? A conundrum for another day, maybe?

Oh well, there were a lot of safe places outside of the Church's eye where he could nurse his friend to health in peace.

With a small tired smile, Alfred slipped his arm under the unconscious Hunter's shoulder and heaved him up, taking care not to jostle his healing wounds too much.

“Hnn… “ The Hunter groaned, however, when his leg changed position.

Alfred checked on him, instantly wary, but the man was still unconscious. Good, it will hurt less this way.

“Gil… bert… wait… “

Gilbert? Well, another mystery to uncover.

 

****

Everything hurt. Some things only a bit less than others, but there was not a spot on his body that didn't ache in some way. Even his eyelids hurt.

But the main source of pain was his left side - the whole of it. Shoulder, ribs, hip, leg… oh God, his abdomen burned like fire.

“Stop wiggling, I have to finish this.”

He pushed one eyelid up only to see a blurry outline of a face bowed over his heaving chest - he knew that face. Probably. “...what?”

He could hear the man breathe a sigh of relief. “Thanks to the Gods you’re finally awake. ”

“What…”  
  
A sudden and vivid pain had him almost swallow his tongue. His whole body seized up as he felt the awful sensation that served to prove that there was, indeed, more pain to be felt. The sound that came out of him was less a moan and more of a despaired wail of an animal dying in great suffering.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” the man that knelt over him smiled cheerfully and did something with his hands that brought out another wail of anguish. “You’ve got yourself nicely thrown all around the cemetery. I would appreciate it if you didn’t let it happen again.”

The man was smiling at him as he said these words, but his eyes were cold and unforgiving, and the Hunter’s hair rose instinctively. If he had a strength to move, he would move as far away as possible.  

Accidentally, this fearsome display was enough to jog his memory.

“Alf… red…” He wheezed out.

But all Alfred did was to wave a finger at him. “Ah, ah, ah, mind not speaking for a while? Your ribs were shattered, the lungs just about pushed them back out, so do me a favour and let them heal in peace.”  

Oh, okay, that explained most of his suffering quite sufficiently. Not that it made it easier to stand. Neither did any of the things that Alfred was doing to him.

As a matter of fact, what in the seven hells was Alfred doing to him?

He tried to have a peek of the things happening around his stomach, but his head could only go up about an inch before the pain in his back forced it down. The Hunter groaned once more.

“Told you to stay still,” Alfred chided in that good-naturedly way of his. “I have to sew you shut before an infection gets to your internal organs, it will be better for the both of us if you stop making it harder.”   

Sew... ? Alfred was sewing his stomach shut? Gods… no wonder he felt like he was being gutted. It hurt so much… and he felt so weak - drunk, almost. How much blood had Alfred given him? He felt full to bursting!  

The Beast was absent from his thought, so even that strange comfort was denied him. Nal was left with only his pain, his guilt and his tumulous thoughts. He was so confused, he didn't know what to do about this whole fiasco with Gilbert… gods, it was a real catastrophe… he had failed his only friend, betrayed him, took him like some sort of cheap, two-penny…

“Who is Gilbert, by the way?”

Alfred’s lightly spoken question almost caused him to choke on his spit.

 

***

The Hunter’s eyes widened and his cheeks bloomed with color, even though the rest of his face was still parchment white. It raised Alfred’s interest something terrible - a bit of jealousy sneaked its way into his thoughts, but he was okay with it, it was a healthy emotion in small doses. Actually, he wouldn’t think that he was able to feel it at all - a nice surprise, it was.  

“So?” He prompted the Hunter, knuckles deep in his guts. He was focused on keeping the flaps of skin together while the droplets of Blood did their job and melted them into one, and his questions served more to distract the Hunter from the unpleasant process than anything else. “A friend of yours?”

“...you can say… so…” the Hunter mumbled around a mouthful of pain.

Alfred wasn’t happy with the notion that he was the cause of it, - he found that he liked this young beast and didn’t want to cause him harm. “Oh?” He mused. “I hope that soon you will be strong enough to apologise to him in person, then.”

The body under his hands stiffened at that. Huh?

“Wha… what? What are you... ?” There was panic in the Hunter’s pale eyes and in his voice, and Alfred paused.

Alright, _now_ he was curious.

“You were mumbling apologies in your delirium,” he explained slowly. Then, trying to lighten up the mood, winked. “I am sure he will forgive you whatever that is you did. Gods, I almost did, you were so convincing,.”

His joke didn't have the effect Alfred expected it to have. The Hunter’s expression grew despaired and his breathing became laboured.

“I doubt…” he whispered. “What I did… gods… you will never… it wasn't something… one forgives…”

Oh goodness, that bad?

“Do not despair, dear,” Alfred tried to console his unlikely friend. “Honest regret and dutiful repentance should be enough to gain forgiveness. You can do nothing else, after all.” Saying that, he showed his thumbs between the ragged edges of the wound and pulled in. The Hunter whined and his body arched as much as the weakened spine allowed him, and Alfred winced in sympathy. He knew intimately how much it hurt to be patched up in such manner and tried to be gentle. “Apologies, dear, we only have an inch and some left.”

The Hunter whimpered in answer.

“Though, if you were more careful and didn't let the giants maul you so, we wouldn't have to do this at all. We would be sitting here and chatting away like good friends.”

“I am… a terrible friend… you don't want me…”

Blond eyebrows went up and Alfred frowned. “Pardon?”

The Hunter turned his face away and his breathing sped up, as if he was trying to hold himself from breaking down. “I am… a beast… a despicable… monster…”

The whole tale spilled out of him in between gasps of pain and sobs of pure despair - Alfred listened to it, the feeling of pity growing in his chest. Oh, that poor fool! Unfortunate young man that happened to make his first mistake and now viewed it as his last.

He was like that, too, once. Back in the day when his brothers were all still around him and he was a young sprout raised by the caring iron hand of the Church. It seemed so big, back then, so scary. Until he was shown how it’s done and that there’s nothing to be ashamed of he was a walking pile of complexes and frustration, and fear of his own flesh.

The way his young friend now slowly crumbled under the weight of his deed seemed almost quaint. Somewhat adorable. Easily fixable, too.

 

***

Nal told everything and only when he has run out of air a thought appeared that maybe he shouldn’t. But his shame started to spill out of his pores and Alfred, for all his teasing, didn’t seem disgusted with him. His touch was still careful and his face peaceful and intent, he wasn't turning away from him...

It meant more than Nal would have suspected.

“You are fretting for no reason,” Alfred said after a while. Nal was about to protest, but a new sharp pain didn’t let him. “I mean, your fretting is understandable, but at this moment it’s quite useless. Worry is like a rocking chair, my dear, it keeps you moving, but gets you nowhere. How do you to know if your… friend… shares your dreary outlook?”

“How can he… not?” Nal gasped. Goodness, his sight was beginning to dim and his limbs started to grow numb… he felt faint… “I… I lied to him…”

“I think you were honest enough. And he didn’t try to stop you?”

“No…” Oh, Alfred might not have been the best person to ask advice of in such matters. His outlook on these things seemed… very lax in the moral department.  “He couldn’t… he didn’t know…”

“Then in my opinion you were already on the right track,” the Executioner shrugged. “I do understand that you can be distressed, taking your age into account. Trust me, if you explain this all to that lover of yours, he will understand.”

“He’s not… not my lover!” Nal felt his face heating up at the sole suggestion. Gods, one could wish! “He’s… a friend…”

 

***

Alfred sighed and shook his head in disappointment. A child, indeed, his pale Hunter was. An affliction that only time could heal.

As for the healing, he was done with the kid’s stomach - the scar was impressive, but at least the skin merged together, with the internal organs safely inside.

That left him with the last unpleasant task before the Hunter could be allowed to fall into the healing sleep.

With no straggling, Alfred shuffled closer on his knees and started to arrange the Hunter into a new position, all the time trying not to shift his healing stomach too much.

“Huh…?” The boy mumbled and blinked slowly when Alfred moved his legs apart and settled himself in between them. “Alfred…? What are you…?”

The position was a bit awkward, he had to admit, but with the Hunter prone and helpless, this was the only way he could go about it. “Stay calm,” he tried to lighten the mood yet again. The approach of the healer was half of the healing itself. “It will be over in a moment.” He lifted the Hunter’s left leg and settled it across his thigh. The wound had closed on both ends, but the flesh was still swollen and inflamed. Mid-thigh, the leg was slightly bent, meaning that the bone was misaligned - probably the effect of the Hunter running around on a broken limb.

It had to be fixed and, fortunately, Alfred knew how to go about it. If they’re lucky, the break was still fresh enough.

“Alfred… what…”

“Bite your teeth down,” he advised with a sunny smile, tightening his grip around the limb, tensing his shoulders and preparing the muscles.

“...Al…” the rest of the inquiry was cut off when Alfred forced one of his gloves between the Hunter’s teeth.

“You can scream, this place is safe from the beasts.”

He bore down using most of his weight with no further warning. The Hunter grunted from surprise before his voice rose in distress and then pitched even higher into a scream of pain when the force applied to his leg caused the halfway healed bone to crack, chip and ultimately snap.

Alfred felt the break happen and whispered a quick prayer to the gods that it happened so fast. Immediately, he released the limb and forced it down, flat on the floor, doing his best to align the bone anew.

“That went well,” he quipped, trying to ignore the pained sobs coming from the prone boy. “Though it would be better if you fainted, dear, since the hand won’t be much better…”

 

***

Little did he know, that Nal did, indeed, faint.

When the pain hit its height, his lungs constricted and his heart stuttered, and his consciousness went out like a blown out candle.

But his eyes were still open, and his body wasn’t following suit.

 

***

It happened in a speck of a second. One moment the Hunter was flat on the floor, shaken by the paroxysms of pain, in the next he was surging up with a deep throaty growl. Alfred’s hunter instincts saved his throat - literally - they caused one of his arms to snap up, barring the way to soft flesh at the last moment.

Long fangs closed on the brace on his forearm, scraping across the metal studs, biting into the leather all the way to the gums, until Alfred could feel their tips on his skin. He barely got the chance to raise his other hand - it stopped a set of two-inch long claws from burying into his face.

“Oy!” He shouted, startled. “Calm down! It will be over in a moment… stop moving, you will… you…” He stopped speaking. What was the point? The eyes that looked at him over his forearm were wide open and dark, the irises nothing more than hair-thin slits, no recognition in their depths - no emotion apart from pain and rage. “Oh,” he muttered.

The lights were on, but the house was empty, it seemed.  

He didn't get the chance to contemplate that new twist in any capacity, before he had to fight to keep his balance, as the body bigger than his pushed at him, trying to force him back. To get up. Acting on battle-worn habit he pushed back, because the one thing he knew for sure was to never step away from an encounter with a beast - and that's what his friend apparently have turned into.  

Was it the pain? The damage? The Hunter spoke of some bestial element that waged a war for dominance with him - did it finally wrestle the reins from the boy?

Well, whatever it was, the bloody thing was angry and stubborn, and the Executioner thanked the good blood that for a moment he seemed to have the upper hand. The Hunter was big, but he hasn’t yet recovered from all the terrible damage. Broken leg was keeping the beast down for now, the damage done to one of its shoulders rendered it useless, and the pain in the side weakened it even further.

But it was a vicious being, set on escaping, and Alfred did his best to stop it from happening. He cared for his strange friend and wasn't about to allow some monster wreck his body even more! He couldn’t let the struggle escalate into an outright fight, least he harms the boy even more!

“Kindly stop… being difficult!” He ground out, using bis bulk to force the beast back, pushing his shoulder into its collarbone and at the same time doing his best to keep the claws and teeth engaged away from his head. Damn, the bones of his left forearm creaked from the force bearing down on them, but he was willing to sacrifice a radius or two if it meant keeping his face intact. “You will… only hurt… yourself… further!”

Good thing they were so close, ironically. It took a bit of maneuvering and quite a bit of impromptu wrestling, but he’s managed to get enough leverage to push the beast down. He pinned it with his mass, resting between its legs, hip lodged into the soft inside joint. He pushed his forearm deeper into its mouth, forcing it to unlock, stifling the angry growls and shrieks. The beast trashed and bit, it clawed at him with its free hand, but since it couldn’t put any serious force into the moves, it served more to annoy than to hurt him.

“Goodness gracious, aren’t you… oodles of... sheer fun?” Alfred gasped out, trying to keep himself from being dislodged. “Good Hunter, please… come back... rather sooner than later?”  
  
But it was for nothing, as the raging thing he faced could not be reasoned with, the words had no effect on it. Double damn. Was the boy even there anymore?

Some people would be panicking right about now. Most of Yharnamites, he suspected, of the common folk that never seen a beast from up close and lived to tell the tale. The ones who hid behind locked doors and ran from anyone who as much as coughed a speck of blood. Alfred was willing to bet his Kirk that the newest batch of clerics and Church doctors could also be counted in with these lowly wretches - nothing more than children raised within the safe walls of the Ward that narrowed with every Hunt, never privy to the feeling of hot blood wetting one’s face, never taught how to wrestle a flailing infected down when everything else fails.

Knives! They were armed with knives and nothing else, and thought that it will help them survive when the Hunter’s Moon raises and the beast catches their scent!

Yes, they would surely flail and die in his place. There was a few true Hunters left in Yharnam, even fewer of them sane enough to keep their heads when the Blood called. He has seen beasts from up close, he has killed many with his own bare hands. But more importantly, he has seen men succumb to the Scourge and knew how to recognise the exact moment when their sanity flew and the monstrous instincts took over.

That’s why he was careful in the handling of his opponent now and unwilling to reach for his weapons yet. Not yet.

Because the Hunter might still be in there. His form hasn’t changed enough to warrant a preventive slaughter - his mouth didn’t split all the way to his ears, his neck and limbs were still of the right proportions. His fur, ruffled by stress and sticky with blood, wasn’t growing out anymore than it already had. Alfred was willing to consider his own deeds to be the cause of this sudden explosion of rage. There was hope yet.

But, for that to mean anything, he had to buy the boy time to come back to himself. Which was not an easy undertaking, since the boy seemed dead set on gnawing his arm off.

“Dear…” He grunted when a well placed elbow snapped one of his ribs. Gods, the thick layers of his garb softened the blow, but still, for a second or two his breath caught. “Dear this is… not how you treat… friends!” Feeling only vaguely bad about it, he lifted the arm with the beast’s head attached and, before it had a chance to let go, slammed it down, hopefully knocking some sense into the nasty thing. Repeatedly. “Do… not... try… me!”

Afterwards his hand felt like it was set on fire, but the satisfaction brought by that bit of revenge doused it sufficiently.

Gods, how long will he have to hold the beast down? It was still full of blood and healing all the time, while he only had this much strength to spare. What if the boy takes his time and his body heals before he’s back? Will Alfred be forced to battle with him for real?  

“Dear Hunter,” he looked into the slitted eyes, searching for a spark of reason, of awareness. He knew that the thing was somewhat conscious, had to be, maybe he could reason with it? “Dear, can you... understand me?”

The only answer he got was a resounding growl and a look that had his skin crawling. But that wasn’t enough to make him give up!

“We have to… stop beating the stuffing... out of each other…” he mused pleasantly, going back to their first - rather unfortunate - meeting. “Get a grip...! What would your… Gilbert say if he saw you now?” Oh yes, he wasn’t above kicking the fallen.

He didn’t know if it was his tone, his smile - those infected with the scourge did seem to react to people showing them their teeth - or the mention of the name, but the beast froze for a moment. Slitted eyes looked at him - and this time they really looked and saw him - in a dangerously contemplative way. Like a sated cat looking at a mouse, wondering if it’s wise to let it go to waste.

Alfred, unused to being considered as such, tensed momentarily. He was brave and reckless, but not stupid. He was ready for the strike...

The strike came a blink later. The beast arched up, trying to turn them to the side or maybe flip the tables altogether. Alfred, naturally concerned about his future in this arrangement, did his best not to let it. He bore down with his hip into the sensitive inner joint, shifting his knees under the Hunter’s thighs - lifting them off the floor and taking the leverage away. He used the fact that the beast’s middle back was off the floor and did his best to shove its arm in the gap, trapping it under the thing’s own weight and unbalancing it even further.

Oh, the tricks one had to learn in the Order to keep themselves from being a victim of someone else's lust. Alfred somewhat missed these days.

The beast, realising that its efforts went nowhere, went into rage. It buckled and trashed, and growled like a wolf caught in a snare, and Alfred grit his teeth and held on, aware that the smallest slip can lead to his death.

He may have to amputate this hand after all this is over.

However, as he grit his teeth and tried to ignore the ache in his muscles, he slowly realised that the pattern of the struggle has changed. The beast didn’t as much tried to get away, as it was set on dislodging him in the least convenient way possible… by arching up and shifting its hips.

Then it moved a bit to the side and his eyes widened. Oh.

“Oh… dear.”

So that’s how it was. He wanted to look, to confirm his suspicions, but he didn't dare to break the eye-contact between them, aware that it would be read as surrender. And, in the end, the hard point poking him in the stomach couldn’t be anything else than… unless the damned vicious thing suddenly grew new limbs, that is. But that wasn’t very probable.

Well… that did explain some things. The Hunter wasn't immune to earthly pleasures - and his beastly side was simply honest about it. Alfred knew how it was with the infected, they slowly lost all reason and their human inhibitions, until nothing else was left of them, but the most base instincts. Feed. Hunt. Mate. The blasted things fucked like rabbits when there was nothing to kill - and no matter that they couldn't breed, they still tried. One of the lesser known facts about the Scourge - one that the Church did its best to keep on the low, because a beast that may murder you was terrifying. But a beast that may fuck you beforehand or afterwards was something else entirely.

And, apparently, when the violence was denied to his Hunter, his instincts shifted to a new target.

“Oh my… this is a fine pickle, my friend.”

Indeed, it was. Alfred wasn’t willing to be killed - and even less to be savagely fucked. He wasn’t new to the concept of forced intercourse, but his experiences so far have been strictly restricted to the Order - for his Brothers and Sisters it was more about bonding and killing time than trying to inflict lasting violence on each other. There were always fair chances presented to both contestants, so the one who lost the fight usually submitted with grace, suffered in silence, took some Blood afterwards and carried on with no ill feelings about the whole thing.

This situation, for all intents looking similar, was a bit different.  

But then, what was he to do about it?

The beast wearing the face of his friend rutted against him, no matter how much he tried to restrain it, hard bulge of an erection kept rubbing against his navel and hip. And, good gods, he wasn’t made of stone.

The adrenaline still pulsed in his veins, the closeness of danger and the pain of the crushed arm served only to awaken his own base instincts. Awkwardly, he attempted to calm his flesh down, the inappropriateness of the situation dawning. This was his friend, he shouldn’t…

But what if that was the reason the beast emerged in the first place? The boy obviously had just experienced his sexual awakening, adding to that the stress of the fight he was in, the fear of his own indecent behaviour, the burning regret… the man he tried to convince himself he didn’t want… Oh, goodness, no wonder that the poor thing succumbed! The more one tangled themselves into their own emotions, the more likely they were to turn!

Following this logic, the best bet at bringing him back was to… quench that thirst, so to speak.

Reassured thus, Alfred felt it’s safe to let his brain switch gears. After all, he was helping.  

“Dearheart,” he allowed his voice to drop an octave, until it almost matched the beastly growls. He leaned even more in, finally allowing for more friction and watched the slitted eyes turn up. “I can help you.”

Oh, yes, it was working, alright. The beast attempted to arch up again, but he didn’t allow it. He pressed his own need to the straining erection underneath and rubbed them together, listening to the delicious hitch in his prey’s voice.

Ah, it has been so long since he played this game.

“I will be in charge now,” he snapped sharply, forcing his aching arm even harder into the beast’s mouth, almost causing it to choke, just to prove a point. “Behave, and you will get what you need.”

The look he got in return would be enough to set a weaker man on fire, but Alfred only smiled his sunniest smile and thrusted down once more.

The air in the abandoned tower grew warm, Alfred’s layered garb was made for the everlasting winter of Cainhurst and now it only served to make him feel even hotter. His skin quickly grew damp with sweat as he kept thrusting against the Hunter. The beast struggled for a while, eyes flashing, attempting to get back on top - at the height of its strength it had to be some sort of an alpha male, unused to being held down. But there was a sort of comforting freedom in being forced to submit and Alfred was set on introducing it to his friend..

After all, what was life if not a series of lessons?

Gods, but he would like to get rid of at least one layer of clothing. He briefly envied the beast - the Hunter wore little as it was, and Alfred stripped his ruined vest to heal his stomach, so now the beast had to worry about its trousers only. Well, it did have fur… but Alfred was willing to bet that it was less stifling than five layers of thick cotton.

No matter, he could work with that, he’s managed to make it work in worse situations. If he’d only had one hand free…

“Dearheart,” he spoke the pet name and watched as the beast’s eyes slowly centered on him. The pupils were bigger now, widening with every thrust, and Alfred stared at them for a moment, fascinated with the strange mechanic. However, pressure against his own groin quickly brought him to the matter at hand. “Dearheart, I bet you’d like to be freed,” he whispered, “from the confines of this dreadful clothing… right?”

The beast was daft when it came to human speech, so he additionally made his intentions clear by forcing their erections together until his eyes watered from pain and the beast’s pupils blew wide and round. The thing groaned deep in its throat and melted against the floor, like a cat stroked just right.

Using the change, Alfred freed his hand from under its back and pushed it between them, grasping the beast’s cock through the leather, keeping it distracted enough to stay down. The Hunter’s trousers were easy to open - as everything the Workshop came with, the design was flawless - and it was just a second before the cock trapped within sprung free, hard and arched, and… well.

“Goodness,” Alfred almost moaned at the feel of it against his palm. “Seems that my friend is gifted in many areas, eh?”

He wasn’t much worse himself, but at this moment he thanked the gods that the situation allowed him to be on top. He surely wouldn't want this thing rammed up his backside.

That Gilbert fellow, a brave and resilient man, indeed.

Mouth watering, he did quick job of his own trousers. The beast’s nostrils flared in quick succession when their flesh met without the hinderance of fabric, hot and velvety smooth. Alfred rubbed his hand against both heads, gathering the slick juices and used them to further smooth the glide of his palm when he circled it around both lengths for the first experimental stroke.

It went as well as he expected it to - if the growled moan and his own voice merging with it were any indication, it went well.

The beast kept watching him, and he kept staring back into its eyes, unwilling to break the contact first, aware that he’s still being tested. Even if the strokes caused the skin on the Hunter’s shoulders to shiver and his breath to hitch, he still had to be careful until the beast got lost in the pleasure.

He decided that cheating wasn't above him, and lowered his face to the wide, heaving chest and the two bare points on it. Eyes still, he licked a wide swipe across one, testing the responses, and it turned out that he wasn't mistaken. The beast groaned against his skin, even if its eyes have shown a spark of confusion. Alfred closed his lips around the nipple and sucked at it sharply, bothering the nub with his teeth and tongue, toeing the line between pain and pleasure, either biting or soothing the trapped flesh. The beast reacted beautifully, the low growl turned into a continuous sound, something akin to angry purring. It kept shifting its hips, slowly adjusting to the tempo of the Executioner’s hand on its cock, thrusting up into the caress.

By the time Alfred mouthed his way to the other nipple - and wasn’t the feeling of short velvety fur against his lips charming? - it seemingly decided to let him continue. The fight didn’t leave it completely, but the hand that landed on Alfred’s back and hunched into the wads of his tunic didn't even attempt to push him away. He was being allowed to proceed.

And it didn't sit well with him one bit.

Lulling the beast into the sense of safety was easy and rather pleasurable, but Alfred was after a different prize.

 

***

 

He felt... Strange.

He was still in pain, he had trouble breathing, and he couldn’t move. He woke up to a strange sound and heat surrounding his body, the hard floor underneath his back softened only by a haphazardly thrown coat,  a hand on his dick and a man between his legs.

The doubletake that this thought evoked would be enough to twist the head of the most curious of creatures.

What…?

 _“What?!”_ the thought echoed in his mindspace, but there was no answer.

The Beast was still absent?

So why was he… why couldn't he control his body? And Alfred… what was happening?! Why was Alfred… oh gods, he was so aroused it almost hurt, the friction against his member was magnificent, and the teeth scraping against his nipple made his brain flare with pleasurable sparks. But his leg was still in pain and his side was not healed enough, and he… his mouth was full of blood, and he could hear the bones shifting in Alfred’s forearm… gods, what has happened when he was out?

He wanted to call out, to speak to his friend, to make him stop and explain - but someone else was running his body - something else. He could feel and see to some extent - and gods, was Alfred handsome, but the look on his face was terrifying in its intensity. But he could not move a muscle.

“ _Beast?_ ” He called in fear. This wasn't something he was even remotely ready to deal with. _“Come on you stupid thiiiiiingg…”_ the hand on his cock twisted and for a second he almost blacked out again.

It was like before, like when he was with Gilbert… the sensitivity of his flesh was heightened, the instinct to mate started to push out any other thoughts… gods, he was hot…

And scared.

He would never think that Alfred would… the Executioner always seemed so in control, so collected and, well, uninterested… to see him now, with his green eyes dark and hooded, with his lips pulled into a completely new kind of a smile… to feel his flesh straining against Nal’s own and have his hand pushing them even tighter…

 _“...beast..._ ” Nal whimpered, confused more with every passing second. “ _Please… I am sorry… oh gods, please… come back. I can't…”_

No answer.

His body arched up like a whore’s when Alfred did some clever trick with his fingers, his legs fell apart even further.

What was happening to him?

Oh gods, was this what Gilbert felt when he was… er, pleasuring him? This helplessness spilling inside of his bones? Was this that made the man allow him...? Did he somehow made it…

“Dearheart.” Alfred’s voice was low and throaty, and completely unlike him. Nal’s ears strained without his will as a shiver ran down his spine. This wasn't a voice of a mellow, cultured man he has known - this was a voice of a man giving out orders. Shockingly, it went straight to Nal’s cock - and the Executioner seemed, to know it too. “I’d like to do it your way… like a proper beast,” his smile was predatory and his breath came quick and heavy. Nal didn’t understand.”But I’d be loathe… to undo your healing… so bear with me…”

Nal, confused, could only stare into the emerald depths full of the darkest promises - and that’s why it came to him late when Alfred shifted his hips, leaving his erection free and bare. His body whimpered at the loss of heat and friction until the hand returned to it, strong fingers circled around the base of his member and…

The pain of intrusion was unlike anything he’s ever felt. Not even close to being eviscerated, no, but… stranger and more acute because of that.

Eyes wide, Nal could not believe what was happening.

And he wasn't alone.

 **_“Huh,”_ ** the Beast growled deep inside of their mind. _“_ **_The fool would dare…!”_ **    

 

***

 

The pressure engulfing his cock was exquisite, it almost made him close his eyes in bliss, but Alfred kept them open with the sheer strength of will. He wanted to see as the beast tenses, spine bending backwards into an arch, pushing its chest and sculpted stomach up, presenting itself like an offering. He dared to look down, briefly, where their flesh joined, before the thighs around him tightened and he was reeled in, last inches of him disappearing in the tight heat of the Hunter’s body.

There was too much Blood in the boy’s veins to sustain any lasting damage, the pain had to be minimal - but the feeling of a cock up his ass seemed to be enough to cool its head and more destructive instincts. As it usually did.

He would remove his hand from the thing's mouth, just to hear it moaning in pleasure, but he decided against it. It only added to the situation, he so liked to listen to his partners when their voices were muffled. He wouldn't dare to shove his cock between those teeth, so this had to be enough.   

Ah well, another thought for another time!

With that thought, he started to move.

 

***

 

 _“Oh gods…!”_ He was sure - he was sure there was something more to anal sex than just rough thrusting, the right technique, some parts that were more pleasurable than the others. _“Go-_ ** _ah!_** _-ds…”_ There had to be!

Then why did it feel like this was enough? The harder the better and please keep them coming don’t stop, please!

It had to be the Beast, his instincts, this damn oversensitivity!

 **_“Or maybe you’re just a whore.”_ ** The Beast surmised carelessly. **_“Who likes to be shown his place.”_ **

_“Is that… that’s what this… is about?”_ Nal gasped between the sharp spikes of pleasure. _“You… thought you… were some alpha beast… that wouldn_ ** _ah!_ ** _”_

 **_“Me?”_ ** The Beast stretched on its side, relaxed and grinning at him. **_“I am not holding the reins… it’s all you, boy.”_ **

_“It.. can’t… be!”_

He would never do it - at least not with Alfred! Not like that, with a mouthful of blood and an edge of violence tainting their movements. _“Why can’t I… stop this… move?”_

He’d never suspect that having something shoved up his backside would result in a headache, but here it was, he was strange enough.

 **_“You allowed your instincts to get in control,”_ ** The Beast yawned. **_“Who do you think usually holds them in check, stupid child? You obviously can’t… You have a mate and should fuck him. You can deny it, but the need is still there.”_ ** Another grin. **_“So, still thinking I’m useless?”_ **

But the damn thing liked to make him eat his words!

 _“No…”_ he whined more than said. Alfred was picking up the tempo and it was really hard to keep up with him. The hand squeezing the base of his member and delaying the release wasn’t helping at all! _“I’m so… sorry… oh gods… make it stop... please!”_

**_“Heh, do you really want me to?”_ **

The answer was harder than he thought it would be. Because he was still scared, but it was… he was slowly losing his mind, that’s what it was! Especially, when it was Gilbert that he… that he…

**_“...brat?”_ **

Alfred latched onto his nipple again and Nal moaned wantonly, his body pushed the bit of flesh into the man’s mouth, his free hand tightened on the tunic and pulled the Executioner in, closer. His hips rose to meet the harsh thrusts mid-way and answer them with equal force, causing Alfred to moan into his skin.

Oh, gods, he needed this, needed the release it promised. To clear his mind. To force his instincts down and make them behave again. To stop wanting to find Gilbert and.. He would never do this to him… he would never - he wished that it will never come to this. He was a half-beast and his teeth still rattled every time Alfred - who was a human - pushed him into the floor. Gilbert was fragile, weak, he was breakable… he needed to be treated with care and gentleness… Nal would never trust himself with him, even if he…

**_“Brat!”_ **

He was so close… so very close… If Alfred would just hurry up and get the hand away, or stroke him once, it would be enough…he would be back to normal again.

“Dearheart,” the nickname again! It was strangely endearing and frightening at the same time, because Alfred didn’t look like a man who gives out pet names. Especially to mindless beasts. “Will you… howl for me?”

 **_“The sheer gall of this bastard!”_ ** The Beast sounded admiring.

Nal… yes, he would. He would do anything for the chance to finally come and have this over with.

He startled a bit when the leather covered hand moved from between his teeth. His fangs caught on the metal studs and his jaws ached something terrible, his tongue felt like a piece of wood and his cheeks were covered with blood-mixed saliva.

But that wasn’t important, because just then the hand on his cock released the death-grip and stroked slowly up, right to the head, a rough thumb ran over the slit on top and Nal howled.

His muscles seized like he was rubbed with bolt paper. He gripped the man close to him and came in long spasms, howling like a haunted spirit.  

 

***

 

“Well, that was… refreshing.”   

Nal opened his eyes - he wasn’t aware that he had closed them, to be honest - and managed to focus his vision enough to see the smug smile on the Executioner’s face fade into something softer, but no less pleased. Alfred, madman that he was, didn’t seem to mind the pain of a shattered bone, or the hand that hung uselessly at his side.

He was sitting rather comfortably between Nal’s legs and, the Hunter realised with a shade of mortification, was still… in him.

“Are you with me now?” He asked, concern filling his voice.

His clothes were rumpled and his hair in disarray, sweaty fringe hung low over his eyes and his skin was damp, his breathing fast. And yet, he still looked magnificent, like a ray of goddamn sunshine, while Nal felt like an overcooked noodle. Not that he felt bad - his bones turned into a puddle of pleased liquid, the aftershocks of mind-numbing pleasure still coursed through his nerves. He would just appreciate a bit more ability to move. Was the post coitus to always be like that for him?

“I’m… here,” he mumbled an answer to the question, slowly shifting around and trying to let the man know that he wants him out without saying it outright. He was blushing all the way up to his ears.

“Ooh, that’s good news!” Alfred showed teeth in a smile and the Beast inside of his chest rumbled at the perceived challenge. Nal was glad to hear it. “And you seem to have gotten back to your old self!” A vague gesture encompassed the sudden return of his height. “Although, some parts were impressive even in their diminished state.”

Nal gasped from mortification when his spent cock was patted lightly, as if it was a housepet. The man had no shame! His skin was so sensitive, too!

“Then, if you’d bear with me for a moment.”

Alfred pulled out with no fuss and put himself back to rights as if that sort of thing happened to him on daily basis. As if he just came back from a milk run not almost fucked his friend through the floor.  

Were they friends now? Were they… more? Less? What was going to happen now?

A hand holding a relatively clean rag appeared in his vision. “Here, I will let you get yourself tidied up.”

Nal was grateful for the moment of respite from the inquisitive look of the green eyes as Alfred moved to the other end of the room where his stash of vials resided. Probably to fix his hand.

Nal was conflicted. He felt lightheaded and confused, but at least the tangle of desires in the back of his head ceased to vie for his attention.

He wiped the spend from his stomach and - blushing - between his legs, and tucked himself in, buttoning the trousers back up with shaking fingers. He was about done when something landed on his back and shoulders. He looked up sharply, but it was just Alfred - minus the outer tunic he usually wore. Now it was draped over Nal’s shoulders, keeping the encroaching chill away.

“How is your leg?” The man kneeled in front of him, attention directed at the limb in question. “Looks like the bone aligned itself right this time. I wouldn’t jump on it too  much for a while, if I were you, though, it will be weak for a day or so.”

What was he supposed to think of him?

The Executioner saved his life and took care of him. And then fucked him savagely. Only to act like nothing happened five minutes later. He was such a scary, scary man.  

**_“Brat… you okay?”_ **

_“I don't… I don't want to talk right now…”_

“Dear Hunter?”

Did he have to call him that? The same as Gilbert…?

“Are you alright?”

“I’m… don’t know how I am…”

Gods, don't let him cry in front of Alfred - not in front of the man who he just had sex with.

“Ah, child, come here.” Alfred muttered and moved closer, taking the overcoat and relatively gently manhandling Nal’s arms into the sleeves. “What happened, happened,” he said calmly. “If you feel bad about it, I am happy to take the blame on myself.” His left hand still looked only half operational, but he did the buttons up with admirable speed. “You can rest here for a bit, no beast will disturb you, and then go find this Gilbert of yours and tell him of the feelings you have for him.”

Nal would be struck by a lightening and it wouldn’t make him freeze as much as he did after these words. He looked up with wide eyes, lips open to protest the accusation - and met only that damn sunny smile.

“How…” he choked out. “I mean… I don’t… I have no… He is a friend…!”

Alfred has the gall to laugh at him. “Dear, oh dear,” he chuckled. “You say one thing, but I’ve learned that when one screams the name of a certain man as they come, there may be something more at play than just friendship.”

He did _what_?!  

“I…?”

“You did,” a cheerful nod. “I do not mind, truly, although some other men could feel a bit concerned about their performance.” The bastard winked at him! ”I am sure the half of Yharnam already knows that Mister Gilbert has a staunch admirer. That is, until the information spreads, as it usually does, and tomorrow the whole city will be in the know.”

This was a nightmare! Where were they, even? Was he really that loud?

“So, then.” Alfred’s smile softened and his eyes grew kind. He did the last button under Nal’s chin and removed his hands completely. “Is it better for the man to learn about it in such uncouth way?” He asked. “Or is it better if he learns it from the only person he’d like to hear it from? Think on it, friend.”

The Executioner got up and Nal watched as the man rights his clothes, clasps his coat and shoulders his weapons. He startled a bit when a blood vial was thrown his way and barely managed to catch it.

“Here,” Alfred smiled. “I expect it returned soon. And I will be very disappointed if I have to go through the dreadful ordeal of dragging your half-dead carcass up the stairs once more, understood?”

Nal noded, mindlessly, and watched as the man left.

Alone, he took stock of his various pains and aches, and the weapons that Alfred mercifully left him. A gun in good repair with a small stash of bullets. A cleaver - not his, his was probably lying broken back on the graveyard amongst the giant bodies… it was a bit rusty, but it will do. The coat was really warm and Nal reminded himself to thank the man later for letting him have it. The decorative edges were rather beautiful and it would be a shame to let the garment be destroyed. Maybe he could leave it at Gilbert’s…

Heh, this again. The thought he wanted to avoid.  

Was he so obvious that even Alfred - the brainwashed Church killer - could see through his denial?

 **_“Hey, brat,”_ ** the beast shuffled closer.

Nal answered it half-heartedly. _“Yes?”_

**_“...you really love that man, do you?”_ **

Was it even worth protesting?

_“...yes, I do.”_

He just didn't know what to do with this fact.


	3. Chapter 3

It took Nal a long while to gather himself back together, and by the time he finally did, the Sun has started to slip behind the various building of Yharnam, chilling the air and darkening the small room in the tower Alfred had left him in. It was a high time to move on, logically, it’s wasn’t smart to stay in one place for too long.  
  
The Beast was curiously silent, but still there. A hot, heavy weight under his breastbone, a feeling of tumultuous, inhuman emotions brushing at the corners of his mind. And it was only fitting for his rotten luck that he wasn’t sure which ones belonged to the creature and which ones were his own. Gods, he was messed up…

  
Thankfully, the Ministration did its job, healing his broken leg and the massive gash on his stomach. Fur started to recover it, but the scar was still here, jagged and ugly, pulled over with a shiny new skin. It will take a while to disappear.

He didn’t know what to think. Gods, did he really…? Alfred was a scary man, to be sure, shameless and quite a bit unhinged, but Nal never suspected him to be into - into that. He seemed strangely innocent even in his madness - or better yet, _uninterested_ in any sort of earthly pursuits. Nal just didn’t expect to wake up from a dead faint to see his...  
  
**_“Are you still whining about that?”_ ** The Beast snarled, impatient. **_“He gave you what you wanted, patched you up and went on his merry way. I think we can move on.”_ **

Nal didn’t reply, even though he had a perfectly snappy response at the very tip of his tongue. He didn’t want to give the animal another reason to lash out at him. He just needed some peace and quiet to think.  
  
**_“Brat…”_ ** The Beast’s growl was low, almost pitying. That...was quite unusual. The monster sounded defeated. **_“Go back to your window. Go back to your plain scholar and, fuck, stand guard at his bedside, I don’t care! Just do something, move!”_ **

A reminder about Gilbert’s vulnerable state stabbed through Nal’s lungs, momentarily robbing him of breath. That’s right, they’ve left the poor man alone in a house that wasn’t secure anymore - with a broken lock and no light at all. Was the incense still burning, chasing off the beasts or was it all ashes now? Goddamnit, he was such an idiot!

**_“Can’t argue that.”_ **

“Oh, shut it, you monster!” The Hunter snapped back, but there was a fond note in his tone. Huh, one could get used to being insulted at every turn, it would seem. Especially, when that seemed to be the only price to pay for two extra feet in height.

Eh, back to the Central Yharnam, then.

 

*****

The town was dark and the Hunter would like to say ‘quiet’, but it wasn’t quiet at all. Truth to be told, Yharnam seemed to come alive after dark, like some dark basement full of rodents and rot. Howls and screams came at him from all directions as he carefully picked his way through the fog-shrouded streets and demolished houses. Sounds of furniture breaking, cries and wails cut mid-through that he didn’t want to think about.

Alfred’s hiding place was a curious little nook, nearly impossible to access - at least not by a beast, that’s for sure. But it led the Hunter down some very unimpressive alleys where the citizens seemed especially unfriendly - he could see the shine of yellow eyes spying on him from behind boarded up windows, he could hear deep gasping breaths of the changed ones. Curiously, he was left alone - he had a feeling that part of the reason for it was the careful stitching on the front of his tunic. The residents had to see its owner at least once and the Hunter had no illusions about the circumstances that accompanied that short acquaintance.

Goddamnit, did Alfred know about it? Did he leave the tunic on purpose, to give him a layer of protection in more than one meaning of the word? The man was confusing on the best day...

Still, Nal was tense, walking softly, hands on the weapons, the pistol cocked. He followed a path that he thought may lead him back towards the center of the city, but followed it more in instinct than anything. The air that way simply smelled of incense more than what he was leaving behind.

He only breathed out in relief when a dingy alley he was crossing finally opened into a gateway to a familiar place.  

He was back in the Cathedral Ward.

And it also seemed that he had a chance to visit the Chapel on his way.

 **_“You want to stall again?”_ ** The Beast yawned, maw full of dagger-like teeth on display.

 _“I am concerned,”_ the Hunter responded. That’ and the Chapel was the quickest way to leave the Ward.

Inside, to his surprise, he met Arianna.

“Well, hello,” she called to him as he stepped up the stone steps. She was sitting in her customary place, but this time she was dressed for the colder weather. A woolen shawl rested on her shoulders and she even put her hair up. “Didn't expect to see you here so early.”

Nal bowed before her, pushed by the strange need for courtesy whenever she was concerned. A whore she called herself, but her bearing was nothing but. Come to think of it, her bearing was more noble than what he’s seen in Cainhurst.

“Good to see you well,” he said, settling down on the floor by her chair. “Is everything alright? Do you need more incense?”

He knew that she didn’t like to leave her house for the night.

“Oh, if you’d be so kind to get me some for tomorrow?” She looked at him from over her knitting needles and only then the Hunter realised what she’s been doing. Huh, he wouldn't take her for a woman that enjoyed handcrafts. “I still have some left, but, ah,” she shrugged gracefully, “I do find that the night is easier to stand in company.” She nodded towards the corner where the blind dweller snored lightly in his nest of rags. “However strange that company it is.”

She smiled and Nal couldn’t stop the chuckle from escaping him. She was a beautiful, kind woman and he thought that it would be easy to fall in love in her  - that is, if only he was so inclined.

He looked on, curious, as her pale hand rose and rested on his arm, feeling the material of his borrowed tunic, then poked at the stripe of magnificent haberdashery running up his chest. Her eyes rose to his, alighted by a mischievous spark.

“I do see that you’ve also spent some time in good company,” she mused, pink lips bowing in a smile when the Hunter stammered. “I wonder… did he know how to make it a pleasant time for you?”

Nal blushed all the way up to his ears, stuttering denials and excuses, wishing he could hide his face under the rim of his hunter’s hat - if he only had it! Her laughter, however, was clear and pleasant, and even if she laughed at his embarrassment, he decided that he likes to hear it.   

“How… how can you tell?” He grunted out, throat tight with shame.

Could anyone tell?

_Could Gilbert?_

“I’m a woman of pleasure,” she answered lightly enough that the sarcasm was near undetectable. “I can recognise a fuck well done when I see it.”

Screw the hat, his hands were enough to hide his face in. Arianna laughed at him again, patting his head like he was a pet that performed some interesting trick.

At least the Beast was quiet in her presence - it always was. He didn’t get an explanation so far, nothing beyond a low growl of ‘she smells’. Well, Nal couldn’t tell what was wrong with it - she smelled of incense and flowery perfume, and sweet blood she distributed at will. He liked her scent.

“Say, darling, where will you be heading now? Or are you planning to stay for a while?”

Oh, he wished that he could. She was a pleasant company and was wise beyond her years - he could ask her about things without the fear of ridicule. She did give off a sort of maternal aura and it was easy to let himself be pulled in by it.

But not this time.  

“I have to go on, my lady,” he answered, shaking his head regretfully. “I have a… I have to check on a friend before the Hunt begins for good. I left him in a rather unfortunate state and I worry for him.”

She looked at him and her eyes were pitying. Friendships were rare in Yharnam.

“Go, then,” she patted his head once more, “see to your friend and be safe, dear. Do you need some blood on the way?”

“I… if it’s not a trouble.”

“Oh, darling, you’re never a trouble.”

He handed her an empty vial and respectfully averted his eyes when she pulled her dress up to bare one creamy thigh. She was a whore, true, but that didn’t mean he couldn't show her a modicum of consideration. He understood how much these little things meant for those who couldn't hope for them often. And he had a feeling that she appreciated it - found it charming in some very sad way.

“There, love, all done. You can uncover your eyes.”

He took the vial back, - full and warm, and precious, - and kissed Arianna’s hand in thanks. She giggled like a young girl and poked him in the ear, pretending to be put off by the gesture. “Go away, you cad!” She laughed. “You won’t steal my heart with a few clumsy kisses! Go!”

He flashed her a smile and did as he was ordered. He went.

 

*****

 

**_“Will you just climb the goddamn ladder, we have no time for this!”_ **

_“I need to go to the clinic first!”_

**_“You know the doctor has no cure for him!”_ **

_“Yes, I know. But I’ve left a spare shirt in there and I’d like to retrieve it!”_

**_“But you have a shirt, brat.”_ **

_“...I have a half of a coat. It’s barely proper.”_

Was he stalling _again_? Maybe. Alright, maybe he was!

But at the same time, he wasn’t about to show up in front of Gilbert looking like a beggar. Alfred’s tunic was very nice, but a proper gentleman didn't go arnoud with no shirt on. He’d also like to retrieve his hat, thanks you very much, and the few spare weapons he had stashed in the safehouse that the clinic had became for him. He still wasn’t completely recovered from the previous stupid stunt, he needed more bullets and more vials if he was to survive the night.

Arianna’s blood was warm against his breast, hidden in the safest place he could find for it. It wasn’t for him, though, he intended to give it to Gilbert - it seemed to help him with the cough, even if it made him a bit… shameless. Nal hoped that the man will get used to it quick and the helpless state it put him into stops being an issue.

The clinic was silent when he stepped inside and marched right up to one of the cracked cupboards. He breathed out a sigh of relief when he saw that his stash is still there.

The spare shirt was a bit tight across the chest, but it was better than before, when it hung off of his gaunt frame. He rolled up the sleeves and fished out a vest to match.

 **_“Dressing up for the kitten, I see,”_ ** the Beast purred in glee. **_“Maybe you’re not stupid, after all.”_ **

Nal ignored the dig, busy with arranging the weapons and vials on his person. It felt so much better to be properly armed and equipped once more. The silver pistol was of the Powderkeg’s make, it felt more solid and reliable than the common one Alfred got for him. The Sawspear wasn’t his first weapon of choice, but it was well oiled and enhanced enough to take the place of his lost Cleaver.

Thus prepared, Nal took a deep breath and turned away, marching up the street to where his instincts had tried to lead him all this while.

No one got in his way, which he took with mixed feelings. The tension was building up in his spine again and it would be good to exercise it on some unruly plague-ridden citizen. But at the same time, he was worried about Gilbert and wanted to see him as quickly as possible.

He climbed the ladder almost skipping steps - managing to bang his knee on one of the rungs, goddamnit, - with the heart thudding in his chest.

The coffins were still there, exactly as he left them, blocking the doorway to the house. Thank gods! The incense was still burning - good, that was good.

Moving the coffins out of the was easy enough - but actually pushing the door and stepping inside of the tiny hall was not.

 **_“Oh for fuck’s sake!”_ ** The Beast growled. **_“Get on with it!”_ **

Yes. He should. He should get on with it.

**_“...or do you want me to leave again and see what happens then when there’s no one to keep your libido in check?”_ **

No, absolutely not!

**_“Good boy.”_ **

 

*****

 

The hallway was dark - the candle Nal dropped to the floor was still where he left it. The armchair was still standing by the window, its rugged upholstery stained with dried blood. God, there was so much of it, the smell of it was downright stifling in the small area. Seeing it like that brought down the fact how close he was to losing his friend, how very fragile Gilbert still was.

He faltered for a second, unsure if he should proceed into the other room - but then he took a deep breath and filled his head with resolve.

He already saved the man’s life once, and Arianna was kind enough to give him more blood. Maybe this time it will be enough to heal him permanently? A man could hope for one miracle in this town full of curses!

The door to the other room were also as he left them, and there was no light coming through the cracks underneath them. Was Gilbert still sleeping? Well, he was exhausted and the Ministration was stronger than anything he’d had probably experienced - not to mention… being buggered silly by a beast. That alone probably did a number on him.

Should he knock? Was there a point?

Courage suddenly gone, Nal leaned forward, resting his forehead against the wood, and bit his lips to keep a whimper from escaping him. It didn’t work, the sound still tore free…

Wait. He didn’t make that sound.

Hair on the back of the neck raising in alarm, he pushed his ear to the door and stopped breathing for a full minute, putting all of his attention to listening.

And, just a he was about to breathe again, the sound repeated.

A high pitched whimper, muffled, but still audible. A sound that shot through Nal like a lightening, raising his hackles in an instant. For one, because it was a sound of distress. For another, because it _wasn’t human_.

A firm push was all it took for the door to swing inwards and stop on the wall. Nal strode into the dark room with a snarl on his lips, teeth on display, claws ready to dispatch anything that _dared_ to come in there - where his _mate_ was sleeping!

The Beast snarled in unison - for once in perfect agreement with its Hunter.

“Gilbert!” Nal shouted, eyes frantically rowing from wall to wall, searching for the source of the sounds and the man he left in there. “Where are…”

But there was no beast in there. No one, really, apart from a figure curled in the corner between the bed that got pushed away from the wall, swathed in a tangle of sheets and the white hunter’s cloak… A trembling, sobbing figure that tried to fit themselves in between the bared bricks of the wall.

“Please…” The whimper repeated, this time accompanied by a slurred word filled with a heart-breaking fear. “Go… away…”

Nal froze.

Oh gods. _Oh no._ What has he done! He scared the man again!

“Gilbert… it’s me,” he said gently, carefully pronouncing the words around his slowly retreating fangs. “I won’t hurt you… I’m sorry.”     

“Go…”

Did he remember? Did he wake up, worn and marked, and remembered what was the reason behind it?

“Go away…”

“No.” Nal stood his ground. He closed the door and stepped fully into the room, reaching for the box of matches still resting on the stove. He needed light for this. “I won’t go. I’m here to help you.”

But when he struck the first match, Gilbert shrieked in a high, near-inhuman voice and pushed away from the wall, nearly crawling under the low cot.

The Beast flinched. **_“Kid…”_ **

Nal, distressed, dropped the matchbox and rushed to him, pulling the cot out of the way single-handedly, reaching out for the bundle of the struggling man. “No... no light!” It cried, struggling to get away from the clawed hands that tried to peel the fabric away. “No light!”

 **_“Kid!”_ ** The Beast snarled, fighting for his attention.

“I won’t hurt you!” Nal ignored everything that wasn’t Gilbert. Even the pain in his chest brought on by the notion that the man he loved was so terrified of his beastly form that he wouldn't even look at his face. “I swear to god, I won’t hurt you! Please, stop… please, let me see you, let me help you!”  

“No…” the bundle cried, doing all in its power to escape his hold. “Don't look… don't look at me! I’m… please, _stop_ **_don’t!_ ** ”    

The last word rose impossibly in pitch when Nal finally managed to grasp the edge of the swath and pull, baring its contents…

And then he let go, sat back on his haunches, and stared.

The creature that cried with Gilbert’s voice crouched in front of him, trying to shrink itself into disappearing. The partially torn shirt it had on left nothing to imagination, it bared exactly enough to destroy any sort of doubt that the pale skin Nal has just gotten used to turned dark, hidden underneath short silverish fur....

_“Don’t look… at me…”_

Gilbert covered his head with crossed arms, but Nal knew - even without seeing his face - what he will find underneath them. The arms were human - bigger, stronger, ending in two clawed hands, but still proportional.

This was no plague beast that covered in front of him.

“I’m… a… _don’t!”_

Pulling the shaking arms away was harder and took much more strength than Nal thought it would. He could feel the muscle and sinew under his palms tighten and shift, he could feel it shivering in his grasp as he slowly lowered them down to his lap, pulling the creature closer, forcing it out of the hunched position. Forcing it to get closer and look at him…

“Please let… go…” Soft, still human mouth clumsily formed words around the short, but sharp fangs that filled it now. A pair of grey eyes looked everywhere, but at Nal, until the eyelids covered them for good, making the trails of wetness on the flushed cheeks even more obvious. “Leave, I’m… a… a…”

 **_“Fucking hell,”_ ** the Beast growled, voice low and downright stupefied. **_“Look at that. He’s fucking beautiful.”_ **   


	4. Chapter 4

The candle was lighted in the end. Its flame was weak and pale, as everything in Yharnam seemed to be, the very air of the place trying to stifle it out of existence. Still, it was enough to cast some light across the tiny room and the two creatures residing in it. 

They sat on the opposite sides of the cot. Gilbert pressed into his corner, still curled into his bundle of blankets, short shivers shaking his body every few breaths. Nal took position on the only available chair - he sat bowed forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands hanging uselessly between them. He looked tired and despaired, but still he tried to smile at his mate with something resembling reassurance. 

“I am human.” He didn't mean to whisper, but the situation seemed to call for it. As if the air was also trying to stop his words mid-air. He moved his hands, palms up, in a gesture of harmlessness. “This - this is just a coat, a… a spell, you can call it. An old Hunter’s technique to make yourself bigger and stronger.” He paused, words stuck in his throat, about ten different sentences trying to push themselves out of his lips at once. 

The Beast was silent in the back of his head, still stunned by the sight before them. Nal was of two minds on that: he could really use some help here, but at the same time he didn't need anymore voices in his head muddling everything up. 

And Gilbert wasn’t speaking. He just sat there, in that corner, staring at him with wide eyes, lips pressed together and trembling from time to time. He looked spooked, but Nal couldn’t tell if the reason for it was him or Gilbert’s own transformation. 

Frustrated, he tangled his claws in the spiky mane on the back of his neck and bit back a growl. “I was using this rune for a while now,” he mumbled out instead. A short chuckle followed, low and mirthless, almost derisive. “Without it I’m much less of a sight, believe me! Just - much less on all accounts.” 

He dared to look up from his hunched position and saw Gilbert blinking slowly, saw his throat working as he swallowed. He couldn’t stop staring at the man, really, trying to ascertain all the changes about him, all the things that were different, but not by much. He was still Gilbert and there was no way to mistake him for anything else. He just seemed - more. 

“Please, Gilbert, talk to me.” In the end, begging seemed like the only way left to him. With a tired sigh Nal ruffled his hair and let his head hang down. “Just… just tell me you’re listening, alright? We can get through this - I can help you through this! Only… only let me!”  

“...we had lain together, hadn’t we?” 

Nal’s head snapped up so fast that he could hear his spine crack. Wide-eyed he stared at the man in front of him, noting how his face darkened with a blush, as endearing now as it was each time before. But there was also something hard in Gilbert’s eyes, something sharp and at the same time incredibly lost. As if he wasn’t sure of his own mind and wanted someone - anyone - to tell him he’s not mad. 

Nal could only nod, wordlessly. They did. It was a strange thing to focus on in this situation, but they did. 

Gilbert released the air he’s been holding in with an audible hiss. He lowered his eyes, staring somewhere around Nal’s left knee, then at the cot, then at the flickering candle flame. Nal observed his every move - the way his eyes reflected the weak light was new and captivating. They were paler now, these eyes, previous bluish-grey lightened into a new shade and now they seemed almost silver. 

Just like the fur - as much as Nal could see of it. Gilbert’s hair, on the opposite, darkened, it was thicker and a bit longer now, almost brushing his shoulders in uneven strands, it was nearly black on the top of his head, but turned gray as it went down. Not the gray of an old age, no, more like - frosted with silver. What Nal has seen of his chest was mostly silver. His hands were dark too, but the shoulders were pale. 

That was, as far as Nal knew, rather uncommon colouring. He’s seen black beasts, sure, even ashen ones. Vicar Amelia was pale as snow and Paarl was silver - but not this. Not like that. 

**_“He’s rather beautiful,”_ ** the Beast rumbled lowly, tense and out of balance.  **_“Our mate, isn’t he?”_ **

Nal could only agree, with a small addendum that he always thought the man so, even in his frail human condition. 

“I was scared.” 

Gilbert’s thin whisper brought him back to the matter at hand. It also stabbed him through the heart with a blade of guilt. “I’m sorry.” He could only apologise. “I thought I was doing a good thing. I didn’t…”  _ Want you to die.  _

Gilbert’s next words, however, loosened the blade a bit. “I was scared of dying. I was… in so much pain,” the man whispered, pulling his knees tight to his chest and resting his forehead on them. “I thought that this is it… This  _ was  _ it, most probably. I was so scared, that I…” 

“Gilbert…” 

“That I won’t be able to… ever see you...” 

If a man could swallow his own tongue, Nal was that man. He sat back, silent and stunned, as Gilbert opened his heart to him. 

“Good Hunter,” the man sniffed. “I was so lonely… and you brought me so much… so much joy… I thought… but now?” He turned his head and looked at his hand, dark and clawed and dangerous. “Now I am…”

**_“Perfect,”_ ** the Beast purred.  **_“In every fucking inch.”_ **

Nal agreed, though he understood his lover’s issues. Waking up to a different body wasn’t something one just accepted. 

“You are still human,” he said gently. “Gilbert, I swear to you, you are not a plague beast. This isn’t the affliction, this is just… you’re like me.” 

“But why!” The man raised his voice above whisper. His eyes narrowed in confusion and he pulled even tighter into his huddle. “How could have this happened? I am no Hunter, I am just… How is this possible?” 

For that Nal had no answer. But he still tried. 

He sat up and raised his hands to unbutton his vest and the shirt underneath, moves slow and telegraphed. He saw Gilbert’s eyes widening, his face flushing, and rushed to explain. “I am just trying to show you something!” He pulled the shirt open a bit, baring the top of his right pectoral and the mark burned into his skin. “See? This is the rune that makes it possible for me. It’s called Embrace of…” he stalled, the last word stuck in his throat with a feeling that mentioning the full name of the rune won’t calm Gilbert as well as he thought. “Er, just… that’s how it works.” 

Gilbert nodded slowly. “But I don’t… I don’t have anything like that,” he whispered, one of his hands travelling under the blankets, doubtlessly to feel his chest for any scarring. “I don’t…”

“It doesn’t have to be here.” Nal covered his mark. “I just decided to burn it in this spot. Yours may be somewhere else?”

**_“It isn’t,”_ ** the sudden answer came from the Beast. 

Nal blinked in surprise and turned his attention inwards.  _ “What do you mean?” _ He asked. 

**_“He doesn't have a mark,”_ ** the Beast growled, louder this time. 

_ “How can you know? How can we explain it then? People don't just change like that, I thought that was the whole idea behind the runes. Wait!”  _ An idea came to him, freezing the blood in his veins. _ “Was it Arianna’s blood that did this?” _

_ “No. It was us.”  _

_ “Wha…?” _

_ “ _ Good Hunter?” Gilbert’s voice sounded worried. 

Nal returned to the present, shaking his head, but the shock still gripped him tight. What did the Beast mean by that? How could they…? 

“Good Hunter, are you alright?” The bundle of blankets inched forward, uncurling a bit, silver eyes showing concern for the young beast that suddenly straightened on the chair and, for all intents and purposes, was the one looking spooked now. 

**_“He has only one scar on him now,”_ ** the Beast purred with satisfaction.  **_“We left it.”_ **

Nal felt as if he was doused with cold water. Was it… the bite? How in heavens…? 

He rose up, hands clenching on thin air, mouth suddenly dry. Gilbert flinched at the suddenness of the motion and the Hunter stilled again. 

Goddamnit, never in his life had he felt so awkward! It’s like every step he took was somehow wrong!

“Gilbert,” he said, aiming for calm, but achieving a strained growl. 

Gilbert looked at him, wariness entering his expression. “Yes?” And they were back to whispering. 

“I need… I need to see your shoulder.” Nal managed a careful step forward, stopping only when his shins touched the end of the cot. “Please,” he reached with one hand, “trust me. Just for a moment I need you to trust me.”

Silver eyes stared at his hand and Nal counted every heartbeat, biting his lips, trying to project reassurance, but feeling brittle on the inside. He didn’t know what he would do if Gilbert didn’t… if he decided not to… 

His knees turned to jelly when slender fingers wrapped around his scarred digits. 

“I do trust you.”      

Gilbert rose to his knees and then allowed the Hunter to pull him up, to his feet. He gripped the blankets tightly around himself with his free hand, but when Nal pulled to the side, he stepped around the bed to stand in front of him. 

He was still shorter, but this time the difference wasn’t ridiculous at least. The top of his head was just barely under the Hunter’s chin and it was such a perfect height, Nal felt an insane urge to embrace the man and pull him to his chest. But he resisted, even though he had to bite his tongue at the whine of protest that wanted to escape him. God, but Gilbert smelled nice up close. 

“Can you,” he pushed through his tightening throat. “Can you…?” 

He motioned to the blankets and Gilbert nodded. The fear that previously filled his eyes was almost gone now, he seemed to regain his equilibrium the longer they talked. With a little shrug he allowed the blanket over his back to drop down - not all the way, he stopped it with on his elbows, but it bared his shoulders and Nal had to take a deep breath to calm himself. 

He reached out and stopped his hands just an inch over the fold of the shirt. “Can I?” His voice was nearly silent. 

Gilbert’s was too, when he breathed out, “Alright.” 

Nal touched the shirt - the fabric was soft and warm - and moved it carefully aside, baring the slender shoulder and, yes, the scar adorning it. He pulled the air in through his nose and something in his expression had to alert Gilbert, because one of his hands shot up and landed on the mark. 

Silver eyes grew big. “Oh.” The man breathed. 

The Beast downright purred and Nal almost followed suit. It shouldn’t be like that - a sight of an injury, even a healed one, shouldn’t make him… what the fuck was this feeling even? He was  _ glad _ . It was gladness and possessiveness, and a feeling of the world being  _ just right _ . It went to his head and it went to his cock, and he didn’t know what to do with it at all. 

“What is this?” Gilbert asked, voice trembling slightly. His fingers kept touching the scar and his expression was strange, brows pulled in tight, but not in anger or distress. He bit his lips, as if unsure, and Nal zeroed in on the motion. “What does it mean?” 

**_“Mate,”_ ** supplied the Beast, uncurling from its crouch, filling up the space Nal provided it. He could almost feel it under his skin, pushing at him from the inside, slowly taking over. 

His mind swam in the smell of the new beast on front of him, in the warmth he could feel under his palm that still rested on its shoulder, the thumb just barely touching the edge of the scar. The mark. _His_ _mark_. One he has left on the man he chose to love. 

It was as if he blinked and his perspective changed, his head was much lower, nose less than an inch from the enticing bit of skin. From there he could smell even better the heady scent of his mate, he could almost - no, not almost - he could hear Gilbert’s heartbeat. Fast, but not with fear. He breathed in deep and a quiet rumble awoke deep in his chest. 

“What…” Gilbert whispered into the scant space left between them. “What is… this now?” 

Nal tilted his head a bit, now looking at the column of a slender neck and a curiously shaped ear; it was bigger than a human one, pointed and covered in short fluff. It looked gentle, downright fragile. He had to feel... 

Nal pressed his nose against the soft skin in the little dip just underneath it and felt Gilbert flinch slightly. He heard a breathy gasp and a hand grasped at the lapel of his vest. It didn't push him away, just - held - as he scented his mate, both of them stock-still. 

“Good Hunter…?” 

“Nal,” he breathed against his mate’s skin and watched the short fur raising in reaction to it. “You can call me that.” Goddamnit. “You can call me whatever you want, just…”  _ don’t tell me to go. Just let me stay. Just let me--   _

He didn’t know what he wanted, but he wanted it more than anything. It was more important than breathing, than the Moon, than the Hunt. 

And Gilbert had to feel it in some way - had to, there was no way he couldn’t… could he? - because he said just one word, a soft and trembling, and glorious, “Alright,” and let the blankets fell to the floor. 

Somehow, he had no idea when, his perspective changed again. A blink, a breath, and they were on the cot, Gilbert underneath him, borrowed shirt slipping from his frame, clawed hands clenched tight on the Hunter’s arms, drawing blood. But it didn’t hurt, not at all - why? 

**_“Mate,”_ ** the Beast answered.  **_“Nothing a mate does can hurt us.”_ **

That - was very strange. But then, everything was strange recently. 

Gilbert looked at him with wide eyes, wary, probably also startled by their sudden change of positions, and Nal didn’t like that look on him. He nuzzled underneath his chin, that soft rumble escaping his throat again, supposed to be calming. It worked. The claws retreated from his skin, leaving bloody imprints on the shirt and Gilbert gasped. 

“Ah! Sorry! I didn’t…” The man pulled both hands to his chest, suddenly horrified with the damage he’s done, that he was able to do. “I’m so sorry!” 

But before his eyes could start watering again Nal grabbed both clawed hands and brought them to his lips, kissing the claws as if he was kissing a lady’s dainty palm. 

“It’s alright,” he promised, licking the drops of blood still clinging to the sharp edges. “I’m fine. You can’t harm me.” 

“But I can hurt without even realising!”

“We will fix it.” Nal promised. “You will learn.” But not now. Now he needed to see. 

 

*****

 

The Hunter was warm. It was the thought that took over Gilbert’s mind as soon as the man leaned over his prone body. 

His hands were warm, the tip of the nose nuzzling into Gilbert’s neck was warm, the whole powerful silhouette radiated heat. It was like the Devil himself came to tempt him with how chilled Gilbert’s own skin had felt. He was swathed in blankets and still shivering, his members almost feeling frost-nipped and his chest tightening with every breath of the cold air that went in it. Until the Hunter touched him, he was freezing… 

Then the man touched him and Gilbert melted like a snowflake caught inside of a street lamp. 

But oh so gently, so slowly and unsure, fingertips barely brushing his skin, the Hunter waiting for him to nod first, watching him with wary eyes in case his touch was unwelcome. And Gilbert didn’t have enough courage left to tell him that it won't ever be so.  

How could it be, when that touch brought him back to life, calmed him and made his fear evaporate with it’s steady warmth and reality? He wasn’t dreaming, he knew now, it wasn’t a nightmare. 

Oh, he was still scared, somewhere deep down, still unsure and not even remotely ‘fine’ with this new form his body took against his will. All the soulful assurances calmed his fear down, true, but… how could it be? He was no Hunter. He was no one, really, no one important, he had no access to these runes and… and he was about to die. 

Was it this that saved his life? Because he felt - better now. Stronger than he felt in ages, he could breathe and his vision didn’t sway and blur every time he moved too fast. And he was taller, which felt very strange, considering that he was never exactly tiny - never below a comfortable average. But now he was too big for the cot, the shirt he woke up in strained a bit across his shoulders when only yesterday it would hang off his gangly body like a mournful banner… Now his chest was wide and full, his stomach wasn’t a sad hollow in the middle of his torso. 

Could he really accept the change for that alone? To deal with the claws and the teeth and the ears, with the short fur covering him head to toes - if it only meant that he can stay alive? 

He feared the Plague beasts, like every non-insane being in this town. These disfigured, lopsided creatures, all the more horrifying for the semblance of humanity still clinging to them in tattered clothes and some mangled words that escaped them between the howls. He was terrified of them and even more so of becoming  _ like  _ them.  When he woke up and the first thing he saw were the clawed hands and the dark fur - he panicked. He almost did something completely stupid, because he was so afraid that a moment more and he will lose his mind. 

But he didn’t. He stayed as he was, cognisant and, well, himself. And then the Hunter returned and Gilbert had a first full glimpse of the kind of a beast that he had changed into. And it wasn’t… terrible. 

He wasn’t yet sure if he found the look attractive - after all in all of his shy imaginings the Hunter was a dashing young fellow, a human, tall and dark and handsome. Not - not like that. 

The size, most of all, was unexpected. Not distasteful, not in the slightest. Every part of the body proportional, but in a sense more than human. They weren’t bad… just unusual. But Gilbert had a feeling that he could get used to them. 

The warmth that filled him when his hands were grasped gently, held and kissed, seemed worth at least a few attempts! 

Like a shameless thing, he pulled his hands back - and with them the Hunter, closer, forcing the man to kneel more solidly on the rickety bed and lean into him more. A strange sensation tickled his throat, as if a sound tried to escape him, but one Gilbert had no idea how to produce. His vocal cords also changed, it would seem. 

It was a bit strange and a bit fascinating, the scientist in him tried to note all the differences in which his body reacted now. Like the way his head wanted to fall back to bare his neck, the way his breathing quickened - and the way he realised that his legs fell apart only after the Hunter was already settled between them. 

Oh, that one was rather…

“No, no, no,” the Hunter chuckled and tried to remove the hands that Gilbert stapled to his own face in hopes of trying to hide his embarrassment. “Let me see you, please!” His voice was urgent. “I need to see your face, Gilbert.” 

“Why…?” Gilbert rasped, hoping that the fur on his face hides at least a part of his blush. “I didn’t… I wasn’t about to imply… Oh goodness, I am not… such indecency is not...”

Another chuckle cut him off and he almost choked on his tongue when a pair of warm lips pecked at the tip of his nose that stuck out between his hands. “Don’t be ridiculous, dear. We have… after all, we already did, didn’t we?” 

Oh good, he wasn’t the only one not brave enough to name it outright. Good to know that his Hunter had some shame in him. 

Not much, if his memory served him right, but enough. 

At the same time, Gilbert was keenly aware that the time they’ve spent together wasn’t something he wanted to forget or deny. It was a hazy memory, a half-formed one at best, but it was there and a part of him revelled in it. 

Something awakened in him at that thought - something new and unexplored, but growing stronger with every moment oh the heat and the smell of his Hunter surrounding him. A new part of him whispered into his ear in a syrupy sweet voice that he could finally let go. He had spent so much time being afraid, these last years were full of constant fear of death, of turning into a monster, of being killed by one… 

And now? And now you’re changed and it’s not that bad, is it? You’re a beast, but not a beast, and you can finally…

Breath out. Breath in. Stop being afraid of the shadows. Reach out and grasp what you’ve desired for so long. 

The Hunter made a startled kind of a sound when Gilbert wound his hands around his neck and pulled with strength he never had before. The weight of the beast on top of him was perfect, not too heavy, but stifling in the right way. One by one Gilbert pushed away his human-breed sensibilities, his Proper English Behaviour, all the things that bound him to the sad little shell of a person he used to be a day before. 

Even if he was about to regret his decision tomorrow, today he was going to be braver than he ever was. 

The kiss was as much a test of that statement as it was a first step in exploring the new and unknown. The Hunter’s mouth was shaped a bit different than a human’s - it had to accommodate big, sharp teeth after all - but it was soft and hot, and the tongue that licked across Gilbert’s lower lip left it with a slight tingle. Sharp, the man realised, like a cat’s. Was his the same? 

The Hunter groaned loudly when Gilbert copied his move. He reared back slightly, lifting himself up on bent elbows. “Gilbert… gods!” His voice was low and made the fur on the back of Gilbert’s neck stand up. What a curious reaction. “That’s quite… sudden… Are you sure-”

“Yes.” Was the answer before Gilbert went in for another kiss. 

He kept his hands busy, pushing them under the Hunter’s garb, into the shirt partying under his fingers with a whisper. Trying to take care with his new claws, he let his fingertips run over the muscled back and sides of his Hunter - feeling for the shape of the flesh, counting the scars, marvelling at the feeling of soft white hair tickling his palms. 

The Hunter was all whipcord muscle and barely tamed strength, eager to reciprocate every touch. Soon enough the control over  the kisses was wrestled out of Gilbert’s hands in the gentlest way - and he gave it up with grace, because that’s what the voice in his mind wanted of him. That was their end game, wasn’t it? To have their lover slowly take them apart, help them understand this new body and its workings, to settle them in this new form with touch alone. 

See how he adores you, the voice whispered, see how appealing he finds you. How his touch is only uncertain when he’s afraid of causing harm. The light in his eyes when he looks at you.

Yes, he noticed all that. But, as sweet and affirming as these things were, Gilbert’s patience was wearing thin, he was eager to explore and the layered Hunter's garb stood in opposition to that desire. It had to go.

“Gilbert!” The man gasped when his vest was torn off and flung away. Gilbert could’ve sworn that he saw a flush colouring his pale face, but the light was low and he might have been imagining things. “Ah, friend, this is a new outfit, I’d rather keep it!” 

Gilbert, drunk on his newfound strength, could only grin - he felt the corners of his lips curl much further than they ever did and startled! Both hands slapped across his face in fear, his strange courage momentarily forgotten. The-The teeth! 

Oh, his face was different now, he forgot! He was a…

“I know it’s hard to get used to,” the Hunter whispered against his fingers. “I kept snagging my tongue on the fangs for a week after the transformation. But it’s not bad.” He laid a gentle kiss on the backs of Gilbert’s knuckles. “You look lovely, regardless, you know.” 

*****

 

It took a while to coax Gilbert out of his distress and back into thoughtless desire. The Hunter noted that the scar after his bote was the way to go - mouthing at it brought out the sweet shivers and the Beast in his head was nearly purring at him to nibble at it some more. It was a strange and quite distressing sound for sure, to have the monster under his skin so pleased and lazy. 

But Gilbert took the front of his mind and all of his attention. The body revealed after Nal discarded the borrowed shirt - in a fashion far more gentle than the one with which Gilbert did away with his garb - was a new territory to explore and he took all the time he had to do it. Not that he had a lot of time, because the new beast underneath him was eager to explore him in turn and soon enough they were both naked, wrestling on the too-small cot over who gets to see and touch the most skin. The knowledge that he’s the stronger one was a heady one - and even headier was the knowledge that he was allowed to exercise this strength. The beast could fight him, it was all too evident in the way clawed hands pushed minutely against his shoulders or slender thighs pressed against his hipbones - testing of the new body, all that. Checking if it can be used to push him away. And they were both acutely aware that it was. 

But wasn’t going to. 

The exploration went on, then, full steam! Gilbert’s beast form was much smoother than his own - unmarred, no patches of scalded skin where fur got burned off, no scars or half-healed wounds. The Beast purred at him that yes, this was perfect, mate was unharmed and they will make sure to keep it this way. The mating mark was the only one that was deemed appropriate - even though Nal found that possessiveness somewhat off putting. He was no animal to mark others, he preferred if Gilbert wanted to be with him of his own volition. 

Thankfully, the man seemed very willing to entertain the idea. Judging by the way his hands grasped at the Hunter and pulled him closer and closer, until his legs would lock behind him. Nal looked up, into the eyes narrowed into slits, reflective irises almost swallowed by the bottomless black of the pupils. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, trying to force his voice to sound like actual words, not just a constant growl. “Gilbert…”

“Yes, gods yes,” Gilbert gasped back, right into his ear. “Come on, my Hunter, come... “ 

**_“Listen to the man,”_ ** the Beast rumbled before Nal had even a change to draw breath.  **_“Do as he asks!”_ **

_ “Your mind changes distressingly fast,” _ Nal answered, only a bit snappy.  _ “To think that only yesterday you encouraged me to kill him!” _

**_“That’s an old tale! Now we’re here!”_ ** Was he mistaken or was the Beast embarrassed?  **_“Now, boy, put your dick into our mate, don’t let him wait!”_ **

Well, when it was put this way. 

“My Hunter yesssssss....”

The sound Gilbert made as the Hunter pushed into his body was nothing less than sinful and near inhuman in how pleased it sounded. As if some great need was just fulfilled, something one waited for their whole life and finally got. His body tensed briefly, limbs tightening, before it melted and dropped back onto the ratty old mattress, boneless and languid, and absolutely entrancing. 

Nal needed a moment to catch his breath when his cock was surrounded by the tightness and the heat of another’s body, when he felt claws pushing through his skin where his lover’s hands gripped his shoulders. This was all he wanted. This was heaven. 

“Good Hunter,” Gilbert murmured into his collarbone, cold tip of his nose nuzzling the overheated skin there. “That… should not be so… easy…”

No, it shouldn’t. The jar of the herbal ointment was nowhere to be seen this time. 

“No, it shouldn’t,” he agreed, nuzzling back at the twitching ear. “But I can’t hurt you now, so it’s most welcome...  _ ah _ , change...” 

“Indeed… you are,  _ ah _ , quite…” A blush stole over Gilbert’s face and for the first time he averted his eyes.  

Nal did the same, awkward as he understood the unspoken. Yes, he was big, the girth substantial enough to be worried about pushing his lover too much. Luckily, this time the nature of their transformations made it easier for them to fit easily. Suspiciously so. 

**_“Told you,”_ ** the Beast reminded.  **_“Mate.”_ **

_ “This is a very scant explanation, you know?” _

The Beast laughed at him, but then Gilbert chose to kiss him and pushed his hips up, and the thoughts of annoyance flew Nal’s mind. Why was he even focusing on things like confused him, when he had the man he loved right there, panting and moaning into his mouth, taking him in with grace and pleasure. What did he do to deserve such feast, he wondered, trying to push in as close to his mate as possible, to merge them into one by sheer power of will and well aimed thrusts. 

The line of fur running down his spine rose up at the sounds he was hearing, Gilbert’s voice turning lower after every thrust and at the same time strangely raising in frequency. A sound impossible for a human throat, one he hasn’t heard yet from any beast - and it ran through his body like an electric current, washed over him like a caress. He was pleasing his lover, it said to him, he was pushing him higher and higher and climbing right behind him.

When Gilbert pulled him down, to lay his head on the heaving chest, supported only on his trembling elbows, the Hunter was in heaven. Surrounded by his lover’s smell and warmth, ear pressed to the rushing heartbeat, Nal imagined he would die now and he would go happiest man on Earth. And he would die soon, from the looks of it. 

The cot creaked underneath them both, ancient wooden frame holding on by the sheer force of will, and when the Hunter's rhythms stuttered, it nearly gave out. But neither of them paid attention to that. Nal leaned to the side, awkwardly, to free one hand that reached down, between their bodies. Gilbert’s cock felt hot in his hand, hard and leaking, and when he gave it an experimental stroke, the man arched up, nearly dislodging the Hunter. He gasped for air, hands scrambling against Nal’s shoulders, words washed out on his tongue in a barely understandable serie of moans. 

“My Hunter…” 

“I got you.” 

He wanted to see him go first, he needed it, to write it into his memory, to have it engraved on the insides of his eyelids. He timed it right, tightening his fingers over the hard cock and driving in with a beastly ferocity, and yes. Yes, that. What he wanted to see!

Gilbert arched up and clung to him, eyes rolling back body tight like a string. A high pitched sound that tore itself out of his throat shook the flimsy walls and the glass in the window, - a wail of a dying beast, but for the Hunter it sounded like music. Gascoigne had his music box, but he would like to have this. Gods, let him have this! 

A couple more thrusts it would take, not much for him to come too. He was almost there, so close his eyes were glassy with unshed tears. 

But Gilbert tensed momentarily, his claws tightened and he surged up, and the Hunter had no time to react before he was bitten. An awkward angle it was, but the fangs pierced skin over his collarbone, scraped over the bones… 

And it was like a lightning struck his spine. It wasn’t as much as a push into an orgasm, as a racing chariot hitting him full force, leaving him dazed and broken. The Beast in his head roared in pleased abandon, all his muscles locked around his mate and he had to close his eyes, because colours exploded across his vision making his head spin. 

 

*****

 

When Gilbert came to, his head felt like it’s stuffed with cotton and his mouth was full of blood. As much as neither of the cases was anything new, nor was it feeling multiple aches across his body, the sound in his ears was somewhat new. A low rumbling purr echoing under the low ceiling of the room, a soothing sound of a giant feline. 

It took him a moment to realise that he is making that sound. When he did, the purring stopped, Gilbert coughing and rubbing at his tickling throat. 

“Why did you stop? It was nice.” A sleepy voice muttered into his ear. 

The Hunter was draped half-over him, arranging them both on the tiny cot as well as he could. His body was hot and his breathing still fast, so Gilbert assumed that he wasn’t out of it for long. Indeed, the mess on his stomach was yet to cool and grow unpleasant. 

He was unbothered by the idea of it, surprisingly, his body felt loose and tingling pleasantly, his mind swimming in the echoes of the orgasm. There was a warmth under his breastbone, like a lamp forced under his skin, and the voice in his mind whispered to him that he’s good, he’s happy, it’s just like it’s supposed to be.He agreed wholeheartedly with it. 

He startled a bit when a rough pad of a thumb rubbed gently across his bottom lip. It gathered some blood and the Hunter looked at it curiously, before licking it off. 

Gilbert felt himself flush at the motion of the pink tongue. He quite remembered having it lick him in some unmentionable places back when he was… before the change. He believed it to be dreams, only sad wishes of a dying man, but now - now he could believe that they weren’t. Now he wished to experience them again. 

“Can we do it again?” If only some devil didn't take over his mouth to speak his thoughts in shameless honesty. 

“I’d sure hope so,” the Hunter answered with no shame whatsoever. Their faces were inches apart and Gilbert saw no blush underneath the pale fur. The cad! “After you marked me so thoroughly, I can hardly think of anyone else to do this with.”

Startled, Gilbert looked down - and gasped in horror. 

The Hunter’s left collarbone was a mess of torn flesh, fur glued with blood, the shape of the wound easily recognisable. His stomach dropped at the sight, horror awakening as the blood in his lips soured… 

But the voice was there again and the spark of warmth flared higher, because the mark was his. He made it and now they matched. And his Hunter didn't look like he minded, in fact, he displayed the wound with pride, a mark of honour. 

Gilbert reached out, but didn’t touch it. Didn’t dare. He touched his lover’s (he had a lover now, look at that!) face instead, curling his palm over the cheek. Nal turned his head slightly and kissed the soft pad of his thumb. 

“We can do it as many times as you wish,” was whispered against his skin. “I would not deny you anything, my love.”

“I…” Gilbert gathered his wits about him. “I’d sure hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published:2016-04-05
> 
> Completed:2016-11-07
> 
> AAAAAAAAAAAAA.  
> Forgive us. It took us time XD


End file.
